


Just The Facts

by katestagram (katelusive)



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Blowjobs, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Gratuitous Banter, Hurt/Comfort, I'm not kidding about that, M/M, Misunderstandings, Ryan gets a little traumatized, Sexual Tension, best friends fightin it out, dubious paranormal content, implied internalized homophobia, irresponsible ghost hunting, kind of, sexy stuff, unexpected demons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-06-29 07:38:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 25,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15724923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katelusive/pseuds/katestagram
Summary: Shane's belief system has always served him well.  Demons aren't real.  Ryan doesn't want to bang him.  But when something goes wrong during an investigation, suddenly all bets are off.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to RPF hell!! This work is in no way intended to accurately depict the lives of anyone whose online personas I co-opted to write this. Please don't sue me, Buzzfeed. (Although if you want to make Ryan and Shane act this out with sandwiches like the Try Guys did, that's totally fine by me.)

Shane may not know the answer to every mystery, but there are a few core facts in his life that he’s pretty confident about. 

One: ghosts and demons are definitely not real. In the history of all time, no one has come up with a single shred of compelling evidence to support the existence of spirits. If it were out there, they’d have it by now. Case closed.

Two: despite the logic of Fact 1, Ryan Bergara will continue to be unshakably convinced otherwise. Sometimes Shane thinks it’s cute. Sometimes he wants to smack him across the face. (Sometimes he wants to smack him on the ass, too, but those things have never been mutually exclusive for Shane when it comes to Ryan.)

Three: no matter how hard Ryan laughs at his stupid jokes, or how many late-night beers they share when they both should be getting some sleep, or how fast Ryan reaches for him when he gets freaked out during their “investigations”, nothing will ever happen between them. 

Which is fine with Shane. It’s all just dandy, as far as he’s concerned. He’s made peace with these facts. They comfort him. They’re the building blocks of his current reality. 

He couldn’t give less of a shit that demons aren’t real. And he’s similarly okay with the fact that Ryan doesn’t want to bang him. Ryan’s straight, he’s known for a long time Shane isn’t quite as straight, they’ve been friends for like seven years and never so much as a lingering hug. 

If they were going to find proof of ghosts, they probably would’ve found it by now. And, likewise, if something more-than-friendly was gonna go down between Ryan and Shane, it definitely would’ve happened already.

In fact, the only difference between these two facts is that Shane doesn’t often fantasize about shutting up some ghost with a hot, sloppy tongue kiss. Not that he has that fantasy about Ryan too often, but – it slips in there once in awhile. 

Either way, he never expects to have any of these beliefs tested. And up until this point in his life, it never even occurred to him that they eventually might be. 

Maybe that’s why he never saw it coming.

It’s an unseasonably warm October night in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. They’re at a dusty little house on a fairly busy road, filming the premiere for their fifth season of Unsolved: Supernatural.

Shane is feeling pretty damn good. For one, they’re not sleeping over here. They have a quaint little room at a Marriott twenty minutes away. He likes Pittsburgh, and after the investigation, he wants to take Ryan to a bar in Shadyside he remembers fondly from a visit to his cousin’s two years ago. Plus, a window is open somewhere, minimizing dust inhalation, and a pleasant breeze has followed them through the first floor. 

All in all, Shane’s having a great time.

As far as he can tell, Ryan is feeling the exact opposite. They’re heading up the creaky stairs into the final stage of their investigation – a spirit box session in the master bedroom of the home, where a woman in the 1970s claims she was attacked by an unseen entity.

Ryan’s been vocally dreading it all night, despite being the one to plan and orchestrate this entire thing.

“Oh Christ. What am I doing here? This is messed up.”

He shrieks, and does a little sideways skip-hop that nearly sends both of them crashing to the bottom of the stairs. Shane steadies him, stifling a laugh.

“You good?”

“I swear to God I just felt something touch the back of my neck.”

“It was me.”

“Was it? Seriously?”

“No. Sorry.”

“I’m gonna murder you, Shane. I’m not even kidding.”

“That’s what the demon wants!”

The banister along the staircase has seen better days. Shane’s in front, Ryan a few steps behind him, TJ at the bottom, filming their ascent. 

“Do you think demons actually enjoy living in these dilapidated houses?” Shane asks, genuinely curious. “It smells like rotten French fries in here.”

“Stop saying the word, Shane, I swear to God.” 

“Dilapidated?”

“I’m gonna dilapidate you if you don’t stop saying it.” 

“You’re going to stop maintaining me, allowing me to fall gradually into a state of disrepair and decay?”

“Yes,” says Ryan. “You’ll hate it.” 

They reach the top of the steps. Shane steps aside so Ryan can get past him. 

“How – do I even want to ask how you can possibly –“ 

“I have my ways. You don’t want to know.”

“Big talk, little man.” 

“You’ll be like a burnt-out bell tower when I’m done with you,” says Ryan, a little spirit coming back into his voice. “Nothing behind the eyes.” 

“Joke’s on you, buddy, that’s been my aesthetic since college.” 

Secretly, Shane’s glad to hear it. He’s been goading Ryan for the last half hour, trying to get him to joke back. Ever since he (allegedly) felt something pull his sleeve in the basement, he’s jumped a mile at every little creak and barely laughed at any of Shane’s jokes. Ryan does this to himself, but it’s not like Shane doesn’t have a heart way deep down in there.

The master bedroom is undoubtedly the stuffiest place in the house. A wave of something ghastly hits them as they enter.

“Ugh, what’s that smell?”

Ryan pulls his t-shirt up over his nose and mouth. “That’s nasty.”

“For our viewers at home, it smells like a garbage truck took a dump in here.”

“That’s . . . vivid.”

“Am I wrong?”

“No. That’s actually very accurate.”

They shine their lights around – peeling wallpaper, faded robin’s egg blue, with splintery wood paneling visible underneath. The splotchy, water-damaged ceiling sags in the center, and in the back left corner stands an enormous old vanity made of very dark wood. 

“Ooh,” says Shane, going over to check it out. “Hey, Ryan. Do you think the demon lives in one of these drawers?” 

“Ugh.” 

He starts opening them with a lot of pizzazz. “Demon! Show yourself! Come out and play with us!” 

“Stop it!” Ryan swats him on the shoulder. “You don’t know what’s in there. It’s probably diseased.”

The bottom drawer won’t open. Something rattles around inside it when he tries.

“Ooh, it’s locked. This must be the demon drawer. You wanna touch it and see if you get any bad vibes? Any demon energy?”

Ryan gives him a Look. Then he squats down next to Shane and lays his hand flat on the bottom drawer. 

“I feel nothing,” he says after a few seconds. “But I don’t like the way this wood feels. It’s slimy. It’s weirding me out.”

“Well folks, so far this room sucks. Bad smell, yucky wood, nowhere to sit down –“

“This whole house gets zero out of five stars on Yelp,” says Ryan. “Poorly maintained. No bathroom. Plus someone almost got murdered here.” 

“They did?”

“Yeah. The mom. Remember?”

“Oh, yeah. Botch job. You know, this has got to be one pretty shitty demon if it can’t even get the job done. Amateur hour, am I right?”

“Shut up, Shane.”

“Listen to me, demon. You can redeem yourself tonight. Just one little murder and all shall fear you!”

“Yeah, just murder him, not me.”

“You’re talking to it too? This is delightful.”

“I’m not – ugh. Let’s just do this, and get the hell out of here.”

They stand in the corner near the creepy vanity. There are a few scratches on the wood floor, which Ryan squats down to film at close-range. 

“What do you think made these?”

“A naughty dog,” suggests Shane. 

“Yeah, trying to escape – you know who.”

Shane gasps dramatically. “She was trying to escape Lord Voldemort?”

“Oh my god.” Ryan glances over to TJ. “Is it just me, or is Shane being even more insufferable than usual tonight?”

“Seems pretty standard,” says TJ. 

“I think you mean I’m being my usual charming self.” 

“That assumes there are people out there who find you charming.”

Shane turns to TJ also and points into the camera. “I know you’re out there. I believe in you. The Shaniacs are eating this up.”

“So this is the spot, right here,” says Ryan, ignoring Shane. “This is where Mrs. Brennan says she was choked and scratched by an unseen entity.” 

“Demon, that was very rude. Why don’t you come out and choke me, if you’re so into that stuff?”

“Why does it sound like you’re hitting on the demon?”

Shane waggles his eyebrows at the GoPro strapped to Ryan’s chest. 

“We barely know each other. Let’s have a little chat and see how things go.”

“I honestly don’t understand you at all.”

Ryan fiddles with some dials on his precious spirit box. He seems subdued, not in the mood for jokes, which is too bad. Shane’s got some jokes stored up. He feels weird, on edge, and it makes him want to talk a lot, although he can’t quite pinpoint why. 

“Okay,” says Ryan uneasily. “So I’m gonna turn this on. If there’s anyone here that wants to talk to us, uh, you can use this device to do that.” 

He fires up the spirit box. Shane covers his ears as it bursts into life. It seems even louder than usual, which is difficult, since it’s already the loudest thing in America. 

“Is there anyone here with us? If there’s anyone here, give us – uh, make a knock on the wall or something.”

“Or just choke us,” Shane suggests. “I’m not really into that myself, but Ryan might be.”

“Shut up, Shane.” 

The spirit box makes a weird growling noise, like a faraway animal. Ryan goes white.

“What was that?”

“Sounded like static.”

The hair on the back of Shane’s arms stands up for some reason. He’d blame it on the breeze, except the one window in this room is boarded up. 

“That’s Ryan Bergara talking to you, by the way, Ryan Steven Bergara,” says Shane. Ryan never says his own name during the demon investigations. Ryan glares at him. 

“Yeah, along with Shane Madej. Two can play at that game.” 

“I don’t care if it knows my name. Come on, demon, come out and talk to us! It’s me, Shane! You wanna rip my skull out?” 

Static. 

“Is anybody here with us?”

“We— are— not,” the spirit box spits out in three different voices. 

“What the fuck?”

“I dunno,” says Shane. “Didn’t sound like much to me.” 

“Uh, are you kidding me? It said ‘we are not.’ Plain as day.”

“Tricky demon, full of lies!” 

“Was that you? Who said that? Can you say something else?”

For about twenty seconds, they listen to the sound of static. Then Ryan turns it off. 

“You didn’t hear that?”

“I heard a lot of nothing. Is it time to get locked in here alone with the d-word?”

“Ugh. Yes. Might as well get it over with.”

He and TJ walk outside, and Shane helpfully closes the door behind Ryan. He hears Ryan say, “Okay, I’m gonna turn my light off.” Then the spirit box fires back into life. 

Shane and TJ stand out there in the dark. Shane hums a little tune to himself. His skin feels weird, and he blames it on the strange barometric pressure of the evening. 

A scream pierces the darkness, short and clipped and distinctly Ryan. 

Shane grins knowingly at the camera. 

“Knew he was gonna lose it.”

It would be entertaining, except – Shane’s heart skips a little beat – it doesn’t stop. 

Ryan’s yelling, “Shane! Shane! Open the door!”

Something thumps on the ground, there’s a dragging noise, like something being pulled across the floor. The spirit box scramble is suddenly, freakily silent. This is new. Shane’s heart starts thumping. He reaches for the doorknob, but it’s stuck. The door won’t open. 

He throws his full weight against it and it swings forward.

“Ryan! Where are you?” 

It’s dark as hell. His flashlight won’t turn on. Shane gropes blindly for him in the darkness. 

“Ryan!” Shane’s heart thumps out of control. His flashlight flickers a little then remains obstinately dark. 

TJ says something about his camera that Shane doesn’t hear. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Shane’s flashlight turns on. Ryan’s in the middle of the room, just standing there, about three feet from where he was before. His mouth is open and slack. The sight of him sends Shane’s heart into overdrive. He grabs Ryan by the shoulder. Ryan flinches away. 

“What happened?”

“Fuck, fuck,” says Ryan. He’s staring up at Shane with absolute terror in his eyes, although his voice is low and monotone. “It grabbed my shirt. It pulled me. It tried to pull me—“

He lurches forward into Shane. Their cameras clack together. Shane wraps his arms around Ryan’s shoulders. He’s shaking, hard, and Shane tightens his grip.

“You want me to cut it?” TJ asks in a low voice, and Shane nods once over Ryan’s head. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” says Shane softly into the top of Ryan’s hair. They’ve never hugged like this before. Before this moment, he didn’t realize that Ryan’s face only reaches the base of Shane’s throat. Shane tightens his arms. 

“It’s okay,” he says again, awkwardly. God, Ryan’s going to hate this later. He either won’t talk about it under any circumstances, or he’ll bring it up awkwardly all the time to make no-homo jokes. Shane isn’t looking forward to either. But that’s not what’s important right now.

“I’m not fucking around,” says Ryan into the front of Shane’s button-down. 

“I know.” 

Ryan takes a few deep breaths. He finally lets go of Shane. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I gotta – I gotta go. I can’t be here.”

He looks so disappointed in himself. For once, Shane doesn’t have anything snarky to say. 

“We’re done anyway, right? This was this last room, wasn’t it?”

Ryan nods glumly.

“Let’s pack it up, boys,” Shane says. TJ nods, and heads down the hall to pick up the EVP equipment they’d left in the children’s room. Shane picks up the spirit box. It’s still switched on, but isn’t making any noise. Maybe it kicked the bucket. He turns it off. They can deal with that later. 

Shane drives. It’s a quiet ride, despite having six people in the car. When they get back to the hotel, TJ hops out.

“We’re going to McDee’s, orders please.”

“A quarter-pounder and a coke,” says Shane. They both look at Ryan, who stares into his lap. 

“I don’t care. Chicken nuggets,” Ryan says. “Thanks.”

“Yeah man, no problem.” 

Shane and Ryan silently bring their ghost-hunting equipment inside. Usually Shane complains about doing that, and wonders aloud who would bother breaking into their car to steal such useless crap. Tonight, the five minutes it takes them to unload everything seems like an eternity.

“You okay?” He finally asks when they get into their room. “You’re acting kinda – weird.”

“I feel weird,” says Ryan, giving him a backwards glance. He’s digging through his duffel bag, trying to find something. It turns out to be basketball shorts. 

Shane sits on the edge of the bed, watching him. 

“Weird how?”

“You’re just going to make fun of me.”

“No, I fucking won’t,” says Shane, surprising both himself and Ryan with the fierceness in his voice. “Ryan, talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.” 

Ryan stands up.

“Something grabbed me. I—I felt it breathing on me.”

His breathing has gone a little shallow. He’s clutching the shorts in both hands. 

“You’re safe now. It’s just us. No demons here. I’ve cleared the premises.”

“It grabbed my shirt and yanked me, Shane. I know you don’t believe me, but at this point I don’t really care. That was by far the worst thing that’s ever – that was the scariest fucking thing I’ve ever felt.”

“Ryan, look, I know it was scary. But it could’ve been anything.”

“It could’ve been anything? What the fuck does that mean? Was it you? Was it TJ?”

He waits for about three seconds. “No, it wasn’t. You weren’t even in the room. The door was closed. Someone pulled my shirt, Shane.”

“I believe that you – experienced something,” says Shane. “Do you want to look at the footage? See what really went down?”

“Fuck, no,” says Ryan. “Not tonight. I’m wigged out enough as it was. I don’t want to see the instant replay.” 

“Understandable.” 

“I’m gonna wash up and get changed.”

“Ryan –“

Ryan pauses.

“Look, I’m – you can talk to me, okay? I won’t argue or debate stuff—“

“Yeah, right. The day you don’t argue or debate stuff is the day you’re dead in a coffin.”

“Seriously. I won’t. If you need to talk, I’m here.”

“Alright,” says Ryan. They look at each other for a few seconds. Ryan’s eyes are moving too fast, darting around Shane, scanning the room for something invisible. Then he turns and walks into the bathroom.

The bathroom door closes. Shane glances around the room for the remote. It’s on the nightstand. He’s leaning back to reach for it when, from the bathroom, comes the second scream of the night.

“Shane!”

Before he knows what’s happening, he’s already at the door of the bathroom, pushing it open. Ryan’s shirtless in front of the mirror, with his back to it. He turns to Shane with an expression of horror.

“What? What’s wrong?”

He looks in the mirror, and then he sees what Ryan sees.

Etched into Ryan’s mid-back are three red, crooked lines. They look like cat scratches, but the sight of them sets Shane’s teeth on edge. The hair on his arms stands up again, and he feels a strange urge to wrap himself protectively around Ryan. 

“Oh,” he says. 

“Three fucking scratches,” says Ryan, voice shaking. “Do you – you know what that means, right? Tell me you know what that means.”

“I know what you think it means,” says Shane, before remembering his promise not to be dismissive. “Yeah, I do. I know. Look, you probably just rubbed against one of those splintery walls without noticing.”

“Uh, I would’ve noticed that,” says Ryan. “I wasn’t just stumbling around bumping into walls. This is fucking horrifying.”

It actually is. Shane’s not feeling so great himself. 

“Let me take a closer look.”

It’s cramped with both of them in the bathroom. Ryan leans over the sink so Shane can examine the marks. They’re thin and shallow, but with a deep crimson hue that makes them appear deeper and more serious. Shane touches Ryan’s bare shoulder, moving it gently into a position that gives him a better look. 

It’s strange and not at all unpleasant to be this close to Ryan when he’s not wearing a shirt. Shane tries not to think about it.

“What do you think?” Ryan’s clearly anxious. Shane can practically feel the restless fear thrumming below his skin.

“Just a couple scratches. Nothing serious. I have some bacitracin in my med kit.”

“Of course you do,” Ryan mutters, closing his eyes. “What’s bacitracin gonna do for some demon scratches? It fucking marked me. I’m a marked man.”

“It’ll keep them from getting infected, for one.” 

“Sure, whatever,” says Ryan. “I can’t believe this is happening. My brain is melting.”

“We’ll get them cleaned up,” says Shane calmly. “Just sit down.”

Surprisingly, for once, Ryan does what he says. He sits down on the closed lid of the toilet, staring at the tiles. Shane bends down and dabs at the scratches with a warm washcloth. Ryan flinches when the water touches his skin. 

“It’s okay, just cleaning it off,” says Shane in his most soothing voice. 

“You could warn a guy,” says Ryan, not sounding very soothed. 

“Sorry. I’ll narrate everything I’m doing. Now I’m putting the washcloth next to the sink.”

“Shut up, Shane.”

“Now I’m opening my med kit.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t bring my rosary,” Ryan mutters. “The one time I don’t bring it.”

“I’ve got the next best thing, which is modern medicine.”

It’s an awkward angle, but it’s the best they can do in the cramped quarters. Shane gently rubs the clear gel over the thin cuts. Ryan’s breathing shallowly, hands on his knees. 

“Feels weird.”

“I’m almost done. Just gonna Band-Aid them up and we’ll call it a night.” 

“Thank you,” Ryan blurts out. 

“Yeah, of course,” says Shane, giving him a weird look. Did Ryan think he wouldn’t do this for him? Did Ryan think there was a single thing on this godforsaken planet that Shane wouldn’t do for him in a heartbeat? 

He has to get really close to Ryan to put the Band-Aids on accurately. He can feel the heat of his skin. It’s comforting in a strange way. Ryan’s here, whole, alive. Freaked out to the max, but all in one piece. Shane’s thoughts feel foreign, like they belong to someone else.

“Okay, you’re all set,” he says once the last Band-Aid is applied.

Ryan stands up, making it once again very obvious that this bathroom was not designed for two men to use simultaneously. He turns to check out his back in the mirror, and heaves a deep sigh. 

Shane swallows, watching the muscles in Ryan’s back shift. Ryan meets his eyes in the mirror, and then twists around to face him. They’re way too close together for any of this to be natural. 

“Thanks again, Nurse Shane,” he says. He’s obviously going for sarcasm, but his voice wobbles, and it just comes out endearingly sincere.

“Anything you need,” says Shane. “Just say the word. I’m here.” His voice comes out way too sincere as well, and he gives himself an internal shake. 

Ryan’s looking up at him with big, dark eyes. 

“Can I ask you something?”

The tone of his voice makes Shane’s heart beat for some reason. He can feel the heat from Ryan’s body, smell his clean, sporty cologne. Why the fuck are they standing this close together? It’s weird. It’s objectively weird. But neither of them move. 

“Sure.”

Ryan opens his mouth, and someone raps on the door. They both jump a foot.

“McDonald’s delivery service!” yells TJ through the door. 

“Oh, our food is here,” says Shane, and brushes past Ryan to get it. 

He opens the door and takes the greasy bag from TJ. 

“Thanks, man,” he says. 

“No problem. The roads in this town are crazy. Half of them are one-way with no signs. We almost got run down by a dump truck.”

“Sounds like LA.”

“For real. You guys wanna go out?”

“I don’t know,” says Shane, glancing back into the room. Ryan’s still in the bathroom. “He’s kinda wigged out.”

“No worries.” He pauses. “Everything okay?”

“I honestly don’t know.” He briefly debates telling TJ about the scratches, but decides it isn’t his place. “I’ll ask him.”

“Yeah. Weird shit, man. Well, we’re headed out for a bit. Just text me if you guys decide to come, I’ll let you know where we end up.”

“Will do.”

Shane closes the door. 

“Hey, you hungry?”

“Not really,” says Ryan, pulling a thin t-shirt over his head. Shane recognizes it as his pajama shirt. It’s old, worn soft, with a big UFO on the front and curly script that says ‘Aliens Believe In Us’. “Okay, a little. Gimme the nugs.”

Shane separates out their food on the empty desk. 

“They’re going out for drinks,” he says. “What do you think? Drink to forget?”

Ryan considers it for a few seconds, chewing on a chicken nugget.

“I’d rather stay here and drink whatever’s in the mini bar.”

“Never thought I’d see the day when you turn down a social invite, but – solid choice.”

“Glad you approve. Felt like more of a Madej choice.”

“Oh, it fully is.” 

Shane buys Sprite from the vending machine down the hall and makes them some sparkly lemon-lime vodka drinks. This whole thing is starting to remind him of college. McDonald’s and alcohol in thin paper cups. Ryan drinks it down in one gulp and holds his cup back out before Shane even has a chance to take a sip.

“Hit me again, barback.”

“No tip? You’re getting excellent service, you have to admit.”

“I’ll give you a tip,” says Ryan. 

“Oh, okay. Give it to me.”

“It’s a hot one.”

“I’m ready.”

“Get me drunk and I’ll pass the fuck out instead of keeping you up all night.”

“Uh, okay. That’s fair. I don’t believe you, but it’s fair.” 

Shane makes him a double. 

Three drinks later, Ryan has calmed down somewhat. He somehow manages to find a rerun of some Lakers game, possibly from the previous season, and they’re watching it stretched out on Ryan’s bed. 

Well, okay, Shane’s not watching it. He’s scrolling through Instagram, not reading any of the posts, double-tapping at random. He feels pleasantly drunk. 

Ryan isn’t paying much attention to the screen either. He keeps scanning the room when he thinks Shane isn’t paying attention. 

“Are you looking for spirits?” Shane asks finally.

“Uh, wouldn’t you be?”

“Mm—“

“No, that’s a stupid question, of course not. You’d be fine. You’d be, like, sipping wine and reading historical fiction.”

“I’m actually on kind of a sci-fi kick right now.”

“Oh my god.” 

“Yeah, I’d probably be fine,” Shane agrees. He feels a little boozy and a lot better. The weird energy from earlier has dissipated. “But that’s just because I’m deeply broken inside.” 

“Well, we already knew that.”

“I actually admire you. I admire your bravery.”

“What?” Ryan looks so comically dumfounded that Shane bursts out laughing. “You admire my what?”

“Bravery. Courage. Inner fortitude. Whatever you wanna call it.”

“I know what bravery means, dipshit. So then why do you spend half your life making fun of me for getting scared?”

“Because it’s fun.”

“Should’ve expected that.”

“But you do this stuff anyway. You don’t quit. You keep going even though it freaks you out so bad you poop your pants on a regular basis.”

“I’ve never actually pooped my pants,” says Ryan. “Contrary to popular belief. I’ve terror-farted, but that’s not the same.”

“It’s really not. It’s commendable, Ryan.”

“Thanks,” says Ryan after a minute. “That was nice of you to say.”

“Well, it’s the truth.”

“I admire you too.”

“Oh, do you now?” Shane feels more pleased than he wants to admit. “Is it my unyielding loyalty to the science of cold, hard facts?”

“No. Well, I mean, yes. Although sometimes I think you ignore cold, hard facts that are right in front of you because they don’t fit your narrative.”

“Mm, no. Not accurate.”

“I like how steady you are.”

“Steady?”

Ryan’s looking sideways at him, head against the pillows he has propped up behind him. 

“Yeah. You’re dependable.”

“I am?”

“Yeah, man. It doesn’t matter how scared I get, how much I’m freaking out, you’re over there, fuckin – making jokes, doing what you need to do. It’s nice.”

“Oh, well,” says Shane, touched. He reaches for his drink – his fourth at this point, or maybe fifth – and takes a big swig because he doesn’t know what to say. 

Ryan’s giving him a fond look. His cheeks are pink, like they usually are when he gets drunk, and he’s got that shine in his eyes that usually means he’s about to start rambling about something. Instead, he keeps going along the same sappy vein.

“It helps me. Like tonight.” 

“I didn’t think I helped much tonight,” Shane admits. “I felt like I was just making things worse.”

“No way,” says Ryan, fixing him with a serious look. “You fuckin – saved the day, man. The way I was feeling in that house, like, I’m not even fucking around. Five more minutes in there and you would’ve had to carry me out. You guys got everything packed up so fast, and then you fuckin – bandaged up my back, it just really –“

He cuts off, looking at Shane. In the background, someone scores and the crowd goes wild. It seems very far away. 

Shane’s gaze traces the curve of Ryan’s jaw, the translucent violet bags under his eyes. He wants to touch Ryan’s face, which is just weird. The moment stretches on a few seconds too long. 

“Anytime, buddy,” he says finally, trying to sound normal. “I’m your demon bodyguard.”

“That makes it sound like you’re a bodyguard who moonlights as a demon.”

“Yeah, well, it’s too late to change all four hundred business cards, so it’s gonna have to stand. Shane Madej, Demon Bodyguard.” 

Ryan finally laughs. 

“I’ll take it. Clearly I need to just take what I can get.”

“I’m the crème de la crème, asshole. Take what you can get? I got clients lining the block to get my services. You should be thanking your lucky stars you get me for free.”

“Your services need an upgrade, judging by what happened tonight.”

“But did you die?”

“No,” says Ryan, reluctantly. “Not yet, anyway.” 

“And you’re not going to. Not from this, anyway.”

“Ominous.”

“Mortality isn’t ominous, babe, it’s a fact.”

The word slips out before he can stop it. He hasn’t called someone “babe” in years. He’s never called Ryan that. It’s not something he usually says to anyone. It’s objectively weird to be saying to Ryan here, now. 

“You’re a fact,” Ryan mumbles, cheeks going red. Thank god they’re both drunk. With any luck, they won’t even remember this in the morning. Shane smiles brightly and pretends it didn’t happen.

“Okay, unrelated question.”

“What is it?”

“Where do robots go for fun?”

“Oh Jesus,” moans Ryan. “This is gonna be really stupid, isn’t it.”

“Come on. It’s funny. I swear.”

“It’s not funny,” says Ryan. “I know definitively it’s not gonna be funny. But tell me, Shane, where do they go?”

“The circuits.”

Ryan snorts, thinks about it, and then bursts out laughing. So does Shane. He’s ten times funnier when he’s drunk. Another fact.

“That wasn’t the dumbest joke you’ve ever told me, but it was up there.”

“You loved it!”

“Me loving something and it being dumb are not mutually exclusive,” Ryan points out. “I love a lot of dumb things. Like –“ He cuts off mid-sentence, eyes falling from Shane’s, shaking his head. 

“Like what?”

“Nothing. Shut up. I forgot what I was gonna say.”

“Uh, okay then,” says Shane, baffled. “Well in that case, I can name some dumb things you love. Sports, for one.”

“Sports aren’t dumb! How can you say that?”

“Football is barbaric.”

“Yeah, sure it is, but it’s also – well, I mean, I’m not a huge football fan, it’s not the greatest – that’s a bad example!“

“So you agree? “

“I will never agree with that. And you’re ignoring a lot of juicy history that comes along with sports. I know you’re just trying to get a rise out of me.” 

“It’s true. I have another one. You love ghosts. Ghosts are dumb.”

“I don’t love ghosts. And hang on, how can you say they’re dumb if you don’t even believe in them?”

“I think the sheer idea of ghosts is dumb.”

“You’re infuriating.”

“You love The Bachelor.”

“You love The Bachelor too!” 

“I love an absolute shitload of dumb stuff,” says Shane, “duh.” 

“Like what?”

Like you, idiot. 

It would be an excellent burn, but they don’t say that to one another. Ryan had said it once, a long time ago, and to this day, Shane never said it back. They never spoke of that time or mentioned it again. 

“Bumper cars,” says Shane.

“Bumper cars aren’t dumb.” 

“They’re extremely dumb. The entire concept is dumb.”

“Fine,” says Ryan. “We both love dumb stuff. Let’s agree on that.”

“Agreed,” says Shane. 

“Make me another drink, if you agree with me so hard.” 

“Yes, sir,” says Shane amiably. He sits up and whacks his knee off the night table. “Ow.” 

“You’re drunk,” Ryan says, crawling over to sit right behind Shane. 

“You’re drunk,” Shane retorts. “You’re drunker than me, probably.”

“I am not,” says Ryan. “No, I am. I definitely am. But I could be more drunk.”

“I oughta cut you off,” says Shane. He can feel Ryan breathing behind him. He’s very aware of Ryan’s warm weight not-quite-touching his body. He’s also aware that they’re sitting much closer together than they usually do, a thought he happily ignores. 

“Don’t cut me off,” says Ryan, draping himself over Shane’s back, slotting his chin onto Shane’s shoulder. He stays there for about seven seconds, which is still five seconds longer than usual. “I’m not done repressing everything that happened tonight.”

“Look, if it will make you feel better – let’s shoot Father Thomas an email tomorrow morning. I’m sure he’ll fix you right up.”

“I don’t know. I’m afraid he’s gonna – what do you think he’ll say?”

Shane adds the last of Ryan’s coke to some rum. He takes a small sip to make sure it tastes good, then hands it over. 

“You know exactly what he’s gonna say.”

“‘Ryan, I’m very disappointed in you. I told you not to mess with demons, and you did it anyway. You’re possessed now and I’m not gonna help you cause this is what you get for being an idiot.’”

“First part, probably yes. Second part, not so sure.”

“What if I need an exorcism?”

“The Exorcism of Ryan Bergara,” says Shane. “That sounds like a movie you’d make us watch on Netflix.” 

“It’s a movie I would never watch. I don’t even want to see the footage from tonight.” 

“You don’t? Even if it contains definitive proof of spirits?”

“Okay, you’re right. Of course I want to see it. But not tonight. It’s too soon.” 

“Save it for the sunshine,” Shane agrees. 

“Shane, seriously. Tell me the truth.”

“About what?”

“You really didn’t feel anything?”

Shane considers it. He remembers the way the hair on his arms had stood up just before Ryan screamed, the dizziness and disorientation he briefly felt trying to find him. To say he’d felt nothing would be a lie. 

“I felt weird,” he says carefully. “I’m not saying it was something paranormal. But I did feel weird.”

“Weird, how?”

He’s feeling kind of weird now, to be honest, although not in the same way. They’re facing each other on Ryan’s bed, both sitting cross-legged, which Shane only does when drunk and will likely regret in the morning. They’re not as close as before, but with the way Ryan’s looking at him – like he knows all the answers – they might as well be. 

“Dizzy. I don’t know. Right before you yelled my name. The hair on my arms stood up, like when you get a shock from the carpet or something. Might’ve just been a little electro-zing from some of the equipment I was holding. Who knows.” 

Ryan’s still watching him with a strange, unreadable expression. He doesn’t say anything, and for whatever reason, Shane feels compelled to keep talking.

“I was worried about you. I felt scared, I guess. Again, not necessarily paranormal, it was just – you don’t normally freak out that hard.”

“It fucking pulled me, Shane,” says Ryan with sudden urgency. The laughter is gone from his face. “It grabbed me by the back of my shirt. Which has fucking holes in it, by the way. It’s ripped in the back. Do you want to see the holes?”

“You just got caught on something,” says Shane weakly. “The splintery wall.”

“No, I fucking didn’t. I wasn’t anywhere near that wall, and you know it.” 

He’s looking into Shane’s eyes with a quiet desperation. It shifts something uncomfortably heavy in Shane’s chest, something not meant to be moved. Without really thinking about it, Shane leans over and wraps his right arm around Ryan’s shoulder. Ryan slumps into him like he’s been waiting for it. His breath huffs out hot against Shane’s shoulder.

“It’s okay,” says Shane. “It’s over now. Whatever happened, whatever it was or wasn’t. You’re here now and you’re safe.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Well, nobody knows anything in life, Ryan. That’s what keeps things zesty.” 

His hair is tickling the side of Shane’s throat. It feels oddly natural to hold Ryan in this way, even though they’ve never done this before. Shane likes the warm weight of his body, the woodsy smell of his hair. 

“It wanted to hurt me,” says Ryan. “I felt that. It was trying to pull me – away. Somewhere. I fucking fought it. It only lasted, like – five seconds. Maybe less. But I’ll never fucking forget that.” 

“It’s alright. That motherfucker didn’t get you. I’ve got you, Bergara.”

Ryan’s head falls onto Shane’s chest. They rest like that for a few moments. Somehow, Shane’s arm has dropped to Ryan’s waist, supporting him, and Ryan’s hand is resting on the mattress behind Shane’s butt. The close contact is doing something unfortunate in Shane’s lower-belly area. 

“We ought to be filming right now,” Ryan mumbles. “Wouldn’t this be a cute ending to the episode?” 

Shane laughs out loud. “I’m in if you are. Although we’re gonna get asked a lot of weird questions.” 

“I get asked weird questions every day as it is,” says Ryan. Finally, he shifts away from Shane, and lies down on the pillows. 

“You do?”

“Every god damn day.” He yawns and stretches like a cat. 

“Let’s get some sleep,” suggests Shane, shifting away. His body, loose and pliant from the booze, is a little too happy about their brief cuddle and the last thing Shane wants to do is make everything awkward by getting a boner. 

“Yeah,” says Ryan. “Uh. Would you mind – “

Shane waits, but he doesn’t finish the sentence. He’s looking at Shane with either concern or bewilderment. Shane returns the look.

“Would I what?” 

“Sleep, um, over here?”

“In your bed?”

“Why do you have to say it like that and make it sound so weird?”

“I wasn’t making it sound weird,” says Shane. “Yeah. I can do that.”

“Thanks.” Ryan sounds heartbreakingly relieved. 

“I told you. Shane Madej, demon bodyguard.”

“That still sounds like you’re the demon.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Or you’re the bodyguard of a demon.”

“Look, I’m a multi-faceted bodyguard, okay? I have a lot of clients. Maybe they’re human, maybe they aren’t. Let’s not get into it right now.” 

“Fine,” says Ryan, but he’s smiling. 

Shane reaches over and flips off the light. They lay there bathed in darkness, not quite touching, Ryan facing away from Shane. Sleeping next to him was hit or miss on the Embarrassing Boner scale. Sometimes it did nothing for him. Sometimes it was a nightmare realm of infinite, exquisite torture. 

Luckily, this time, it’s a big bed. 

The drinks catch up with Shane all at once. Maybe in the morning, in the peaceful glow of a mediocre complimentary breakfast buffet, things won’t feel quite so delicate and strange. Maybe in the morning, he won’t remember the uncomfortable intensity of what he felt for Ryan tonight. 

“Night,” he says, a little slurry. 

“Night,” Ryan mumbles. 

It can’t have been longer than five minutes before Ryan jerks to attention. “Did you hear that?”

Shane, who had been drifting off, struggles to be coherent. “What?”

“I heard something.”

“Ryan, it’s a hotel. You’re gonna hear stuff all night.” 

“I know that,” says Ryan. “It sounded like it was in the room.” 

He scoots closer to Shane. They’re almost touching – Ryan’s shoulder blades just barely pressed to Shane’s chest. One of his heels grazes Shane’s shin. 

“It’s nothing. Just go to sleep,” Shane says, or tries to say. His tongue feels thick. The warmth emanating off of Ryan is a huge problem. Why did he agree to this? 

“I am going to sleep,” Ryan mutters. “Ack! What was that?”

“Oh my god. I thought you were trashed.”

“Yeah, well, I probably am. So what?” 

“So, I thought this was gonna make you pass out. Jesus.” 

“I’m trying,” says Ryan. 

He goes silent. After a few minutes, his breathing evens out. 

Shane’s hovering on the edge of sleep when he feels Ryan’s heel again. It’s not grazing his leg this time though. It’s pushing between Shane’s calves, nestling in there. At the same time, Ryan shifts closer to him, pressing their bodies flush. Shane takes a deep breath and doesn’t let it out. 

Neither of them speaks. Shane finally exhales. 

Okay, so Ryan wants to cuddle. That’s fine. He can handle that. Slowly, like a secret, Shane snakes an arm around Ryan’s waist. It’s a comfortable position. He’s tired, drunk, and his body is already getting the wrong idea. But Ryan clearly needs this, and Shane realizes with an unfortunate jolt that he would do pretty much anything for Ryan. 

It’s very dark. Shane can barely see anything. He’s wide awake by now. He wonders if Ryan’s asleep. His breathing sounds even and peaceful, but he shifts against Shane’s body, and his ass presses somewhere that makes dangerous little sparks fly in Shane’s belly. 

Shane puffs out a guilty breath. All he wants to do is fall asleep, but his body is making this experience anything but relaxing. Nothing like getting accidentally horned up over your traumatized friend wanting to cuddle the bad feelings away. 

He tries, again, to fall asleep.

Then Ryan’s hand touches his. 

At first, Shane thinks it’s an accident. But his fingers close around Shane’s hand. Their fingers tangle together. 

If he weren’t so drunk, he might – who knows what he might say. As it stands, he’s shocked into utter speechlessness. His dick is more than half-hard and pressed against Ryan’s ass. He has no idea what’s going on. They’re clearly having some kind of moment, but the nature of that moment is completely lost on Shane. 

Still, nobody speaks. 

Ryan’s trembling again. This time, Shane doesn’t do anything to comfort him. He doesn’t know what to do. His brain is racing a million miles an hour and coming up with nothing coherent. Ryan’s palm is clammy with sweat. 

Then Ryan pulls Shane’s hand down to the front of his shorts, a quick press. Barely half a second. But it’s long enough for Shane to get the memo. 

The wheels in Shane’s head abruptly stop turning. 

“Ryan,” he says in a soft, choked voice. Just trying to – confirm, or something.

“Please?” Ryan’s voice sounds raw, a little broken and a lot drunk.

For once, Shane doesn’t overthink it. For once, he doesn’t think about it at all.

He rubs Ryan through the filmy material, gentle and efficient, until Ryan’s breathing gets ragged. Then he licks his hand and pushes it down the front of Ryan’s basketball shorts. Ryan yelps and the back of his head pushes against Shane’s throat. His skin is hot, electrifying. Shane feels surrounded by Ryan, the heat of his skin, the sweaty boy-smell of his hair, the scorching electricity moving between their bodies as Shane jerks him off.

Shane can’t help rolling his hips against Ryan’s ass, and Ryan makes a short, clipped little moan each time. Like he’s trying to hold back. Shane wants to tell him to let go. He wants to hear it. He wants to make him lose control. But the words catch in his throat. He can barely think, let alone speak. 

Ryan’s breath sounds harsh, erratic. He’s thrusting against Shane’s hand, making little “uh, uh” sounds. Shane’s never been harder in his entire life, and that is yet another fact. He wants to say, Come on, baby, and maybe he does. It’s hard to tell. There’s a rushing in his ears. The friction between his sweats and Ryan’s butt is too much, the entire experience engulfing him, drowning his senses. He hasn’t felt these dizzy, lightheaded spikes of lust since he was a teenager. He can’t control his mind. He wants to fuck Ryan until the sun explodes, until neither of them can walk straight.

It’s only two or three minutes, in total. Ryan’s moaning shamelessly now, and it doesn’t take much more. A twist of Shane’s wrist, a taste of the firm, bold stroke that he uses on himself, and it’s all over. Ryan comes over his fingers with a long, gaspy groan that sears itself into Shane’s brain, and Shane comes in his pants with his dick pressed to Ryan’s lower back. 

“Oh fuck,” says Ryan, breathing hard. “Jesus.”

“Don’t drag him into this,” says Shane, shaky, and Ryan laughs, a little too high-pitched. He doesn’t flip over. He just lies there on his side, breathing hard, sweat gleaming on the back of his neck.

They don’t say anything else. Shane gropes for a tissue from the bedside table and wipes off his hand. Then he lies back down next to Ryan. They aren’t touching anymore.

Ryan, miraculously, falls into a deep sleep. Shane lies awake for a very long time, listening to him twitch and mumble in his dreams. 

It seems like he’ll never fall asleep, but he must, because he wakes up with a headache and a bad taste in his mouth. His phone says it’s 7:03. The first thing he does is look to his left, where Ryan’s face-planted into the pillows with his hair sticking in every direction. 

A heavy weight tries to fall from Shane’s mind into the pit in his stomach, but he catches it mid-air. There is no point beating himself up over it, he thinks, feeling very mature. No point regretting anything. No point going over it again and again in his head until he has a breakdown. 

They’ll either talk about it when Ryan wakes up, or they won’t. 

It’s either going to ruin their friendship, or it won’t.

He goes into the bathroom and empties his bladder. Then he turns on the shower and stands for a long time under the lukewarm spray. 

Despite the pit in his stomach, the hangover dread, he can’t stop thinking about what happened last night. He remembers the way Ryan pulled his hand down, the dawning shock when Shane felt his erection. He gets hard thinking about the way Ryan’s body had bucked against him when he stroked him just right. He’d never seen that side of Ryan. Against his will, he wonders if that was the first time Ryan did anything with a guy. It seems likely.

Shane doesn’t want to be thinking about any of this, but he jerks himself off anyway. It doesn’t take long. He comes hard into his fist thinking about how perfectly Ryan’s body fit against his, mentally replaying the noise Ryan made last night at the very end. 

Then he gets out of the shower and gets dressed. Ryan hasn’t moved. Shane grabs his headphones and the paperback novel he bought in the airport after he accidentally finished his first one on the plane here. He puts his boots on – regrettably, he’d forgotten to bring a second pair of shoes – and slips out of the room, headed toward the lobby. It’s time to get some complimentary breakfast. 

He finds a nice little table in the corner, away from the businesspeople with their briefcases and slicked-back hair. It’s sunlit and peaceful. He puts in his ear buds, opens his book, and tries to forget about what happened last night. 

An hour later, Ryan still hasn’t come downstairs. In fact, he hasn’t seen anyone on their team. A little disturbing, considering their flight home leaves in just a few hours. Shane takes the elevator back upstairs.

In their room, Ryan’s finally awake and sitting up in bed. He’s still in his pajamas, hair plastered down over his forehead. It’s unbearably adorable. He’s got Shane’s laptop balanced on his legs and his GoPro hooked into it. 

When he looks up, all of the shame Shane had managed to bypass during breakfast comes slamming back into his chest like a baseball bat. Ryan’s eyes pin him down like a bug on a card. Shane feels a burning need to say something, but his mind comes up blank.

It’s Ryan who speaks first, and it’s not at all what Shane was expecting to hear. His tone is low, awed.

“Come here. You’ve gotta see this.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two of Shane's core beliefs have been irreversibly shaken, and if that wasn't hard enough, now he has to deal with the fallout. Why is Ryan so mad at him, anyway?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so, SO much to everyone who read the first part and left me some love. I can't get over how nice and welcoming this fandom is. You guys are AMAZING! 
> 
> Just to reiterate -- I am not affiliated with BuzzFeed and all of this is super fictional.

“Okay, right – there!” Ryan pauses the video.  “You don’t see that?”

 

Shane squints at the grainy footage on Ryan’s laptop.

 

It’s the third time he’s seen the video, and the third time that he doesn’t really see anything unusual about it. Sure, there’s a split-second where maybe it could be interpreted as something weird, an unnatural gleam in the upper left corner, just before Ryan stumbles and the footage goes dark –

 

“I still see a dustball floating in the air,” he says honestly.

 

“Look _inside_ the circle.”

 

“I am! Just because you put a circle around it doesn’t make it look any more supernatural.”

 

They’ve been home for one day. Shane spent most of Sunday trying to sleep, and reorganizing his apartment when he realized it wasn’t going to happen. The time change didn’t exactly help his already fucked up sleeping schedule.

 

Ryan looks worse off than Shane feels. The deep purple bags under his eyes make him look like a zombie, which Shane politely doesn’t mention.

 

“Are you kidding me right now?”

 

“Look, I’m not trying to be a dick, I just—”

 

“You don’t have to try. It comes naturally to you.”

 

“Harsh,” says Shane. “But you’re not wrong. It does come pretty naturally to me.”

 

“Whatever,” says Ryan, crossing his arms. “I don’t know why I thought this would make a difference. I could catch a literal full body apparition on camera and you’d be like, wow, looks like a bunch of dust specks all crowded together in the shape of a person!”

 

“No, I wouldn’t,” says Shane, a little testily.

 

He’s too tired to be arguing over paranormal bullshit. It’s 8am on a Monday morning and he hasn’t even had his coffee yet. Plus, he spent last night shaking himself out of nightmares that he couldn’t quite remember once his eyes opened.

 

“If you got some hard stuff, some compelling evidence, I would admit it.”

 

“Hard stuff? Did you not watch the clip? That’s clearly eye-shine. Don’t you see that glint?”

 

“Please don’t play it again.”

 

“You think dustballs get eye-shine? Is that what you think?”

 

“I just don’t see it. I’m sorry.”

 

“Oh, fuck off, Shane.” Ryan sounds more annoyed than Shane’s heard in a long time. “You’re not sorry.”

 

“Yeah I am. It’s not that I don’t want to see what you see. I just don’t.”

 

“You know what? I don’t care what you think,” says Ryan irritably. “I don’t need your validation.”

 

“You’re right about that.”

 

“I have editing to do.”

 

“Uh, okay. Then do it.”

 

“I can’t work when you’re standing over me like that.”

 

“Oh, right,” says Shane, stung. “Cause I’m the one forcing you to watch the same bit of footage twenty times in a row. Chill out, Ryan.”

 

“I’m chill,” snaps Ryan, and puts his headphones on.

 

“Sure,” says Shane, and wanders away to make some coffee. Whatever. Ryan can be grumpy if he wants to be – that’s none of Shane’s business.

 

There are no clean mugs in the kitchen, because his coworkers are a bunch of disgusting heathens. He eats a handful of stale pretzels for breakfast while he waits for the coffee to be done.

 

When he comes back, Ryan is gone, along with his laptop, notes, and backpack.

 

“Oh, great,” says Shane. “Awesome. That’s really cool.”

 

“What’s cool?” asks Steven, throwing his bag under his desk. He smirks at Shane as he unzips his jacket. “Nothing you did, I’m sure.”

 

“Wow, good burn.”

 

“Where’s your boyfriend?”

 

“I’m regrettably single at the moment,” says Shane. He surveys Andrew’s empty desk. “Where’s yours?”

 

Steven flushes a dark pink. “Andrew’s not – shut up. Don’t you have work to do?”

 

Despite his bad mood, Shane feels a flutter of amusement. Picking on Steven is too much fun.

 

“No, I can chat for a few minutes,” he says, sipping his coffee. “Did you guys have a fight? Is everything okay? You need to talk it out?”

 

Steven glares at him, and pointedly puts on his headphones. Shane sits down and glances over at Ryan’s messy, unoccupied desk. He can’t even remember the last time Ryan got mad enough to avoid him. This may be the first time it’s ever happened.

 

It’s going to be a long week.

 

**

 

Things aren’t weird between them, but they aren’t – not weird. Shane sets a goal to talk to Ryan about what happened Saturday night by the end of the week. But by Wednesday afternoon, they’ve barely talked about anything, let alone the most sensitive and potentially awkward thing they’ve ever shared.

 

Shane couldn’t bring it up even if he wanted to, because he’s barely seen Ryan since Monday. Things feel off-balance and delicate.   He can’t quite figure out what Ryan is angry about, and he fears that it doesn’t have anything to do with the tape.

 

How many times has Shane dismissed so-called “supernatural” footage? Ryan’s gotten mad at him before, but it’s never lasted more than about forty-five minutes. They crossed into strange and dangerous territory on Saturday night, and now Shane worries that he’s paying the price.  

 

**

 

On Friday, he’s eating takeout and reading an Octavia E. Butler novel when Daysha sits down in Ryan’s chair and slowly twirls to face him. There’s a free taco bar set up in the common area downstairs, which Shane hadn’t discovered until he got back from picking up his lunch. The office is pretty much empty, as none of his coworkers can resist free tacos.

 

“Good afternoon,” she says ominously, and Shane laughs when he sees that she’s wearing an Unsolved hat.

 

“Nice hat.”

 

“Thanks, can I keep it? Free advertising.”

 

“Please do,” says Shane. “Take two. Maybe people will start to think the show is cool.”

 

“Nobody is ever gonna think that,” says Daysha. She glances around. “So you’re, uh, up here eating noodles all by yourself?”

 

“Yep. Just me and my best friend, extra side of peanut sauce.”

 

“Is that from Jasmine’s?”

 

“Of course. Pad thai.”

 

“Mm. More like Sad Thai. Cause you’re up here all alone.”

 

She cracks herself up, and it’s infectious.

 

“That was stupid.”

 

“You’re laughing though.”

 

It occurs to Shane that it’s the first time he’s laughed this hard in a few days. The sadness he’s been trying to ignore feels like bricks on top of his chest, weighing him down. He tries not to let it show on his face.

 

Daysha’s giving him a certain look, which means she’s either about to give him an educational lecture, or ask him a probing personal question that will make him uncomfortable. Maybe both.

 

“What?”

 

“You gonna tell me what’s going on with you and Ryan, or do I have to ask?”

 

Shane frowns into his noodles.

 

“What makes you think there’s something going on with us?”

 

She glances around pointedly. “Well, first of all, you guys are usually attached at the elbow. So that’s weird.”

 

“Ryan loves tacos more than life itself. It’s not that weird.”

 

“Well, also, he’s been using our spare editing desk for like three days now, so I know something’s up.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“So that where he keeps disappearing off to.”

 

“Yes, and it needs to end today,” says Daysha with a dark look. “I never realized how loudly he mutters to himself. Do you have any idea how distracting that is?”

 

“I have a very good idea, actually.”

 

“Curly’s about to kill him.”

 

“I don’t really know what to offer other than my sincere empathy.”

 

“At one point, he laid down on the floor and just started groaning. I asked him what was wrong and he said, direct quote, ‘My life is in shambles and I’m probably possessed.’”

 

“Sounds pretty on-brand.”

 

“So clearly something’s going on,” says Daysha. “Do you want to talk about it?”

 

She’s giving Shane a look that twists his stomach in a scary and honest direction.

 

“Is that the look you give people on your love podcast when they’re not opening up enough?”

 

“No, you want that look? Here you go.”

 

She gives Shane a gentle smile and cocks her head slightly to the left.

 

Goddammit, it does make him feel more comfortable. He sighs.

 

“We had a fight.”

 

“I gathered that.”

 

“He’s mad at me.”

 

“I know. I mean, it’s pretty obvious.” She pauses, looking at him. Shane’s about five seconds away from spilling his guts, which is very bad. “Look, you don’t have to tell me what happened unless you want to.”

 

“Okay,” says Shane, half-relieved, half-disappointed.

 

“But you do need to get him away from us. Nobody can get any work done with him down there.”

 

Shane sighs heavily. “Look, I understand that, and I appreciate what you’re saying, but what am I supposed to do?”

 

“Fix it. Talk to him. Apologize.”

 

“Apologize for what? As far as I know, he’s mad at me for not seeing anything paranormal on his video.”

 

“I don’t understand it. Don’t you always call his footage bullshit? Why’s he so worked up?”

 

“Uh, well, I – who knows, right?” Shane gives an uncomfortable chuckle. “Ryan. He’s wacky.”

 

“He’s wacky? That’s the best you can do?”

 

“I don’t know what else you want me to say!” Shane says, a little too loudly. Someone from the other end of the office glances their way, and Shane lowers his voice. “There’s nothing else to tell.”

 

Daysha gives him a peculiar look.

 

“Defensive much?”

 

“I’m not being defensive!”

 

“Shane, how long have we known each other?”

 

Shane examines his fingernails. A little grubby. “Uh, a long time.”

 

“You know how I know you’re hiding something?”

 

“How?”

 

She ticks the reasons off on her fingers. “One, you’ve been standoffish and weird all week.”

 

“Have I?”

 

“Two, you and Ryan are avoiding each other like the plague, which honestly I don’t think has never happened before. Three, and most importantly, you skipped trivia last night. Which we won, by the way, despite being down a teammate.”

 

“Oh shit,” says Shane. “I’m sorry. I completely forgot about it.”

 

“I know. Cause you’re all hung up on this drama, whatever it is.”

 

“I’m not hung up on it. It’s just disrupting my everyday life and making it impossible for me to get anything done.” He pauses. “Oh. Maybe I am hung up on it.”

 

Daysha gives him her “this-is-a-safe-space-to-divulge-intimate-secrets” look again. It’s very effective. Shane heaves a sigh.

 

“If I tell you this, you cannot tell a single person. Ever, no matter what.”

 

Daysha holds out her finger for Shane to pinky swear. “I swear it.”

 

She scoots forward in Ryan’s chair until they’re knee-to-knee.

 

They look solemnly at each other for a moment, and then Daysha leans forward to whisper conspiratorially, “Did you hook up?”

 

“What?” Shane splutters, jerking back. “Why would you – I mean. Haha. Come on. Hook up?”

 

Daysha’s staring at him. Her mouth drops open. “Oh, my god. You did.”

 

“It’s not what you’re thinking,” says Shane desperately. “It was just a little.”

 

“Finally.”

 

“We didn’t—“

 

“Curly owes me money.”

 

“What!?”

 

“Don’t worry, I won’t collect on it.”

 

“I can’t believe I’m telling you this.”

 

“You don’t have to,” Daysha reminds him.

 

“Yeah, I do,” Shane admits, resigned. “I need advice.”

 

“Relationship advice?”

 

“No, advice on how to build a space shuttle so I can blast off this horrible planet and start a new life. Yes, relationship advice.” He pauses. “Although I’ll take any astronautical engineering advice you have too.”

 

“I can’t help you there. You’re stuck on Earth.”

 

“Goddammit.”

 

“Did you have really bad sex and that’s why he’s upset?”

 

“No! Why would you assume that?”

 

Daysha shrugs, a twinkle in her eye. “Because it happens to everyone.”

 

“We didn’t even. It wasn’t much. I don’t know if it meant something or if I was just – there. Unplanned, totally unexpected, just – kind of wild. It’s really thrown me for a loop.”

 

“Have you guys talked about what happened?”

 

“No,” Shane admits, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “He’s been avoiding me all week. I guess I’m, maybe I’m afraid it’s because he’s mad about it or something.”

 

“Why would he be mad at you for hooking up?”

 

“I don’t know. Maybe he feels weird about it and blames me. Maybe he’s having a crisis about if he’s gay or not. I don’t _know_. He’s always been kinda rigid about that stuff.”

 

“Earlier today he was staring at pictures of Henry Cavill for like twenty straight minutes,” says Daysha helpfully. “Maybe it was a gay test.”

 

“Nah, he does that all the time. He says it calms him down.”

 

“That’s fair. Shane, you just need to talk to him.”

 

I want to,” Shane admits. “But I’m scared of what he’s gonna say.”

 

“I know. But isn’t your friendship worth more than what it’s getting right now? Tell him how you feel.”

 

“He won’t even talk to me.”

 

“You have to be the adult.” She pauses. “Honestly I don’t really care how you do it, but you have to get him out of our workspace. I can’t overstate enough how much we need him to be gone.”

 

Shane laughs, an unexpected release.

 

“If he ever stops being mad at me, I can’t wait to make fun of him for how much he annoyed you guys.”

 

“I don’t know how you do it.”

 

“I’m used to it. I’ve actually missed it.”

 

“You two deserve each other. Speaking of that, you have until the end of the day before Curly commits an actual murder.”

 

“Ryan won’t care if you murder him. He’s obsessed with crime.”

 

“And ghosts.”

 

“Yeah, he would be a happy little ghost. Honestly it’s like a dream scenario for him.”

 

Daysha rolls her eyes. “Just get your boy and his muttering and and his creepy demonic voices away from me. Then we can all be happy.”

 

“Demonic voices?”

 

“Yeah, that fucked up audio file that he’s made me listen to about nine hundred times?”

 

“I haven’t heard it,” says Shane, feeling put out.

 

“I never want to hear it again. It scared the shit out of me. I’m surprised Ryan’s still breathing. And I can’t have that demon energy around me when I’m trying to work, like, no! Boy, bye!”

 

She reaches over and steals a bite of his Sad Thai.

 

“I’ll get him,” says Shane.

 

“You’d better.”

 

“Thanks, Daysha,” says Shane. “You’re a really good friend.”

 

She swallows an enormous bite of noodles and gives him a cute little smile.

 

“I know.”

 

After lunch, Shane wanders around the third floor for a good ten minutes, peeking into empty rooms. He doesn’t even know what he’s going to say if he finds Ryan. _Hey, can we talk about how you asked me for a handy and now stuff is weird?_ Oh well. He’ll figure it out when he gets there.

 

He’s about to give up when one of the swinging doors leading to the third floor common area swings open and nearly nails him in the head.

 

“Oh, shit! Sorry!”

 

It’s Ryan.

 

“Aww, so sweet! Your boyfriend came looking for you!”

 

And Steven. Cool.

 

“Hey, guys,” says Shane.

 

Ryan’s avoiding his eyes. Steven’s smirking like he knows something. For half a second, Shane’s heart drops into his shoes.

 

“Sup, Madej?”

 

Ryan’s giving him a strange, pointed look. “What are you doing down here?”

 

He meets Ryan’s eyes and holds his gaze. They stare each other down.

 

“I could ask you the same question.”

 

“Were you looking for me?”

 

“Yeah,” Shane admits.

 

“Aww!”

 

“Shut up, Steven,” says Shane. “Ryan, can you – can we talk? Please?”

 

“Right now?”

 

“Whenever,” says Shane, pitching his voice low. Not that it matters, since Steven is standing even closer to him than Ryan. “After work, I don’t care.”

 

“This is getting weird,” says Steven. “There’s cake in the break room. I’ll catch you losers later.”

 

He pushes through the double doors and strides off. Shane and Ryan are left in the corridor looking at each other.

 

“Fine,” says Ryan finally, all business. “We have to figure out the schedule for next season, anyway. It’s due soon.”

 

The relief that Shane feels is tampered only by the uneasy look in Ryan’s eyes. He wants to shake him by the shoulders, or maybe pull him into a tight hug. His heart aches. Everything he wanted to say is fluttering around in his brain, useless, unable to be translated into human words.

 

“Fine,” he says instead.

 

Ryan gives him a long look, like he might say something. Shane waits, hopeful, but then he turns to walk away.

 

“I’ll see you down there,” he says. “I’m gonna get some of this free cake.”

 

“Cool.”

 

They usually brainstorm on set, because Ryan says it “gets his creative juices flowing.” However, this generally means that it’s just the two of them. That’s never been strange until today.

 

Today is different. It’s the first time they’ve been completely alone in a room together since Saturday night. Shane’s heart starts thumping a little faster. There’s a heavy, crackling energy in the air, like just before a thunderstorm.

 

Shane’s sitting stiffly in his chair. He forgot his laptop, which is usually what he uses to take notes. Ryan has his face buried in his Ideas Moleskin, which is bright green and kind of grubby from overuse.

 

The silence stretches on.

 

Be the adult, Shane tells himself.

 

“So, are you gonna tell me what the hell is going on?”

 

It comes out a little harsher than he intended, and he winces.

 

Ryan’s head snaps up from his notebook.

 

“What does that mean?”

 

“You know what I mean. You’ve been avoiding me all week.”

 

“I’ve been busy. We need to get this done, so—”

 

Shane takes a deep breath, and doesn’t fold. It helps that Ryan’s making direct eye contact with him as he says this bullshit, because that pisses him off. And if he’s pissed, he’ll say what needs to be said.

 

“You’re always busy. It’s never made you avoid me before.”

 

It’s a very good point, which Ryan chooses to ignore completely. His eyes drop back to his notebook, and he scowls down at it.

 

“We need to talk about the fucking new season.”

 

“If you’re not mad at me, why are you using the editing desk on the third floor?”

 

“Because – it’s bigger than ours. I can fit all my notes on it.”

 

“You never used it before this week.”

 

“Before this week, I didn’t know I liked it better.”

 

“Why won’t you just admit that you’re acting weird?” Shane’s voice comes out a little too harsh, a little too loud. He tries to lower it. “Why are you mad at me?”

 

Ryan glares at him. “I’m not!”

 

“Then what the fuck is going on?”

 

“Nothing’s going on,” says Ryan. He snaps his notebook closed. “I’m at work. I’ve been trying to do my job.”

 

“This has nothing to do with work, and we both know that.”

 

Ryan’s breathing hard now, glaring at Shane.

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

  
“You know what I’m talking about,” says Shane quietly.

 

“You mean the fact that something fucking attacked me, ripped my shirt open and literally clawed my skin, and you think it was all in my head?”

 

“Ryan, I don’t – I never said it was all in your head.”

 

“You said it was dust specks. You think I got attacked by a dust speck.”

 

“I don’t think that. I didn’t see what you saw on the video. That doesn’t mean that I –“

 

“I fucking bled for that video, Shane.”

 

“I know you did,” says Shane. “I was there. Just because –“

 

“For once, I thought you were gonna be on my side. For once, I thought you were gonna be supportive.”

 

“You think I wasn’t supportive?”

 

The anger he’s been pushing down all conversation – all week, really – suddenly blooms through Shane’s chest like a hot, ugly flower. He’s breathing hard, and he knows his face is probably beet-red. The other emotions he’s been repressing are bubbling to the surface, hurt and betrayal and confusion.

 

“I fucking kicked that door down to get you. I drove you back to the hotel and bandaged you up. I did everything you asked me to do.” He pauses, trying to pin Ryan down with his eyes. “Everything.”

 

“I’m not saying – I know you did. I said I appreciated it. I said –“

 

“But you don’t want to talk about what happened at the hotel. And that’s what this is really about, isn’t it?”

 

“Shut up, Shane,” says Ryan, voice low and dangerous. His eyes, which had been fluttering around the room, are now shooting daggers at Shane. Shane’s jaw clenches.

 

“You’re being an asshole, Ryan.”

 

“Uh, excuse me?”

 

“You’re treating me like I did something wrong, when all I did was –“

 

“Do we have to talk about that right now?”

 

“I would prefer to! Why does it bother you so much?”

 

“It doesn’t bother me,” says Ryan through gritted teeth. “What bothers me is the fact that – I got – this is my greatest fear, Shane, and you know that. And you still had the audacity to watch that video and go –“

 

“I can’t help what I saw!”

 

“—oh, just looks like a dust speck to me! I’m Shane Madej, I wouldn’t admit a ghost was real if it flew into my mouth and possessed me!”

 

“Why does that suddenly matter? How can you be mad at me for being the same way I’ve always been? You’re acting like I’m the one who grabbed your hand and asked you to –“

 

“Shane—“

 

“I get that you don’t want to talk about it. But it’s not all about you. This affects me, too. You’re being incredibly selfish.”

 

Ryan doesn’t answer right away. His cheeks are flushed a dark, dramatic red.

 

“You’ve got some nerve to call me selfish.”

 

It’s the first time in their long friendship that they’ve ever had a fight. For all intents and purposes, this is the first time Shane’s had a fight like this with anyone. He’s not really a fighter. But he can’t back down. Every nerve in his body sings with rage, anguish and heartache.

 

“So I’m the selfish one? That’s the takeaway from this?”

 

He feels possessed, like he can’t control what he’s saying.

 

Ryan heaves a sigh.

 

“Shane, I’m not asking you to agree with me. I’m not asking you to say that demons are real and I got attacked by one.”

 

“Really? Because it seems like that’s exactly what you’re saying.”

 

“It’s not.”

 

“Then what, exactly, are you asking for? And what’s the deal with this audio footage you’ve apparently got?”

 

Ryan inhales sharply, like Shane said something really cutting. He swallows, visibly uncomfortable.

 

“There’s no deal. It’s just another clip you’re gonna say is bullshit. Why do you even want to listen to it?”

 

“Because I’m part of the show, like it or not. You’re supposed to share this stuff with me.”

 

“I don’t see the point. Why bother sharing the audio with you when you looked at that video – which has extremely clear footage of something with literally no scientific explanation –“

 

“I disagree!”

 

“Okay, there you go! You can’t even let me get the full sentence out before you disagree! That’s exactly what I’m – I’m sick of it, Shane!”

 

“Well, I’m sick of you acting like nothing happened between us.”

 

The words hang in the air for a few seconds, and then Ryan gets up abruptly. Without thinking about it, Shane reaches out and grabs his wrist. Ryan glares down at him.

 

“Let go of me.”

 

“I just want to talk about what happened.”

 

Ryan pulls his hand away but doesn’t move. For a few heartbeats they stay like that, Shane seated and Ryan standing over him. Looking at his face, crazy hair and dark eyes, Shane doesn’t know if he wants to smack him or kiss him. Of course, he’s not going to do either. His chest aches with a messy mix of anger and pain, lust and love.

 

“If you want to hear the audio, I’ll play it for you,” says Ryan after a few seconds. He sounds strained. “You’re right, you need to hear it.”

 

“That’s it? You’ll play me the fucking audio clip, but we’re not gonna talk about the fact that we –“

 

“Please.”

 

“Fine. What about the new season?”

 

“I don’t know.   Just – meet me in the audio booth after work. I’ll play the stupid clip.”

 

“Fine,” says Shane, defeated. He’s known Ryan long enough to recognize that he’s not going to get anything else out of him.

 

He walks out, leaving Ryan standing alone on the set. It would be a good dramatic exit, but his jacket somehow gets caught on the sharp part of the outer door, ripping out the elbow. Great. A perfect ending to the perfect conversation. Outside, the sky has taken a turn for the stormy. It matches his mood perfectly.

 

He takes the long way back to his desk, winding through the sets to get to the main building, brooding. He’s working himself into a good sulk, not paying attention to his feet, when he almost runs into Daysha. She’s carrying her purse and applying lipstick, also not watching where she’s going.

 

“Oof, sorry!”

 

Daysha’s eyes move from his stormy expression to his ripped jacket.

 

“What on earth happened to you?”

 

“You don’t want to know,” mutters Shane.

 

“Does this mean your talk went badly?”

 

“He’s so fucking pissed. And I guess – I got mad too. Because he wouldn’t talk to me.”

 

“Maybe he’s not ready to talk.”

 

“Yeah, clearly not,” says Shane. “He won’t admit that he’s acting weird.”  

 

“It will work out,” she says reassuringly. “You did get him to promise he’ll stop using our desk, right?”

 

“Uh,” says Shane, “yeah, more or less, pretty much.”

 

Daysha gives him a suspicious look. “Mmhmm.”

 

“Where are you off to?”

 

“Valeria’s, they’re having a margarita happy hour until ten. Wanna come?”

 

“I could use a margarita happy hour,” Shane admits. “I’m meeting Ryan after work to listen to whatever audio thing he got. Maybe I’ll come by after that.”

 

Daysha shivers. “Ugh. I don’t know how you can stand to listen to that stuff.”

“It’s just static.”

 

“That didn’t sound like static to me.”

 

“Well, don’t tell me what it sounded like, or Ryan’s gonna say you biased me. Not that I think I’m going to hear anything meaningful.”

 

_Although he might finally murder me if I don’t._

 

“I don’t even want to say another word about it. That shit freaked me out and I want nothing to do with it.”

 

“Okay,” says Shane, mildly puzzled.

 

“Alright, well, I’m late, but – text me if you need anything. You know that.” She makes a kissy-face with her half-done lipstick and Shane can’t help but smile.

 

“I know. I think I owe you a few of Valeria’s signature mango margaritas for helping me so much.”

 

“That sounds amazing. I’ll buy the nachos.”

 

“Perfect,” says Shane. She holds out her hand for a high-five, which they nail for once.

 

“Good luck. See you there.”

 

It’s Friday, which means that quitting time for the majority of the BuzzFeed motion picture team was somewhere around 3pm. It’s past 5 and Shane’s pretty much the only one in the office. He tries to do some work, but Ryan’s angry face keeps shouldering into his thoughts. He can’t focus on anything.

 

Finally, he leans back in his chair and closes his eyes.

 

“Fuck this,” he says aloud.

 

“Fuck what?”

 

When he opens his eyes, Ryan’s standing at his desk with his arms crossed. He doesn’t look angry anymore, but he’s watching Shane with a cool, guarded expression.

 

“My life,” says Shane. “Is it time to listen to an EVP now?”

 

“Yes,” says Ryan. Shane follows him to the audio booth they usually use. Ryan’s fidgeting a lot, toying with the hem of his shirt, seemingly unsure where to put his hands.

 

“You okay?”

 

Maybe it’s absurd to ask that after the fight they had earlier, but Shane still cares about Ryan, regardless of what’s going on between them. In many ways, Ryan is his best friend.

 

“Uh, yeah,” says Ryan, refusing to meet his eyes. “Honestly, I just – don’t enjoy listening to this. It freaks me out.”

 

“Okay, I get that,” says Shane, and steps into the booth. Ryan gets in behind him and closes the door.

 

“Before you listen to this,” says Ryan, “just know that I didn’t alter it in any way.”

 

“Um, okay,” says Shane, not really sure what to make of that announcement. “I wouldn’t have thought you did.”

 

Ryan nods, once, sharply. “This is what the audio recorder picked up when I was in the room alone.”

 

Shane wants to say something else – something to bridge the gap between them, to make things normal again. Instead, he puts on the big studio headphones that are hanging on a hook above his right shoulder. Ryan hooks his laptop into the setup.

 

For a few seconds, it’s just static. Shane listens closely. He knows he isn’t going to hear anything supernatural. But whatever it is, he decides, he won’t accept or deny it, he’ll just – take it for what it is. He’ll remain neutral, at least until things go back to normal with Ryan.

 

Then he hears it.

 

It starts out low, like a strange electrical humming. At first, Shane thinks it might be the equipment malfunctioning. Ryan’s watching him with dark, defensive eyes, and Shane drops his gaze, listening hard.

 

The humming escalates in pitch and volume until it almost sounds like the grinding of very heavy machinery, or possibly the growl of a very large animal. It sets his teeth on edge. All of the hair on his arms stands up.

 

For some reason, he’s transported back to that cramped hotel bathroom in Pittsburgh, seeing the scratches on Ryan’s back for the first time.

 

“What the fuck,” Shane says out loud, but it isn’t over.

 

The noise abruptly stops, and then a sharp, throaty voice says, “Ry—an!”

 

There’s another beat of silence, and the tape cuts off.

 

Shane takes off his headphones, shaken.

 

“It said your name,” he says, dumbly.

 

Ryan’s watching him warily. “Yeah.”

 

Shane’s brain can’t seem to process the information. He rewinds it and plays the clip back again.

 

The humming.

 

The growl.

 

And then – “Ry—an!”

 

It’s deep and guttural, an unnatural, mechanical voice, almost like the grinding of a machine in some unholy factory. Shane feels a coldness seeping into his bones. The tiny booth is making him feel dizzy, claustrophobic.

 

“It’s your _name_ ,” he says again uselessly.

 

“Yeah,” says Ryan again, voice bone-dry. “It said my fucking name. And then it attacked me.”

 

Shane really cannot process this. The information flits uncomfortably from justification to justification without finding a resting place. Nothing fits. He feels like a hole has been blown through his brain.

 

Ryan’s looking at him without the anger from before. In fact, he looks worried.

 

“So you’re not gonna tell me it’s, like, traffic in the distance or something?”

 

“No,” says Shane.

 

“Seriously?”

 

“It’s – that’s – that was a voice. How is that possible? There was nobody in the room.”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“Ryan – I don’t understand how this is possible.”

 

“Me either,” says Ryan, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I can’t stop thinking about it. Like, I’ve been – I’ve barely slept all week. I’m literally wearing five rosaries to bed every night, and then I don’t even fall asleep.”

 

“I’m sorry,” says Shane stupidly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

“Because you would’ve made fun of me!”

 

Shane’s stomach does a slow, shameful flip. Just beneath his veneer of shock, the pieces of the last week are falling into place. Ryan’s aloofness, his absence, the way he sought out people who would validate his experiences rather than dismiss them. He wasn’t angry at Shane. He was scared out of his mind.

 

“I’m really sorry.”

 

He doesn’t know what else to say. But Ryan’s silence stretches out expectantly, like he’s waiting for something else. Without really thinking about it, Shane leans forward and wraps him up in a hug.

 

Ryan tenses up but then relaxes against Shane’s chest. It feels good to hold Ryan like this. It’s satisfying in a way Shane can’t quite quantify, like the feeling of sliding the last piece into a long and complicated puzzle.

 

“I’m not making fun of you,” says Shane. For some reason, it’s easier to say this with Ryan’s face against his t-shirt. He takes a deep breath, and speaks the truth. “That tape is scary. Listening to it makes me feel afraid, which I can’t explain. And I can’t explain why it sounds like something is calling your name.”

 

“I can explain it,” says Ryan, muffled. He pulls back and looks up at him. “It’s that goddamn demon.”

 

“Maybe so,” says Shane. Ryan’s trembling, he notices.

 

“It didn’t just call my name. It fucking – pulled me. It scratched me.”

 

Shane’s fingers find the bandages beneath Ryan’s shirt and he holds him tighter.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says again, into Ryan’s hair.

 

“For what?”

 

“For not – taking this seriously.”

 

Ryan’s cheek is pressed against Shane’s t-shirt, his arms loosely linked around Shane’s lower back. Maybe he finds it easier to talk when they aren’t looking at each other too.

 

“I wasn’t mad at you for not taking it seriously. I’m just, I’m fucking, I feel like I’m going insane. And when you told me that video just looks like dust, when I saw it on the tape, I felt like it was gonna jump out of the computer and grab me, I just –“

 

“You’re scared.”

 

“I’m terrified.”

 

“I’m scared too,” says Shane honestly. “That tape is something I didn’t think was possible.”

 

Ryan pulls away and looks down at his feet. It’s a very small booth, and they’re still close enough for Shane to smell his cologne, the fresh lavender detergent of his t-shirt.

 

Then, unexpectedly, he smiles.

 

“Hang on, did you just admit that I got some paranormal evidence?”

 

“Uh,” says Shane, torn. “Ye—eah. I guess.”

 

“That feels really good,” says Ryan. “I mean, I still feel horrible, obviously, from the whole demon attack thing, but – that’s helping.”

 

“Good,” says Shane. His mind is still reeling. He feels like he just stepped off one of those old-school carnival rides that spins you around until your brain is like a scrambled egg.

 

“Are you gonna text me tomorrow morning and take it back?”

 

“No, I don’t think so.”

 

“Okay,” says Ryan. “This is the first good thing that’s happened to me all week.”

 

“You should’ve told me.”

 

“This whole week has been a blur, okay?”

 

“Did you get in touch with Father Thomas?”

 

“No,” Ryan admits. He’s packing up his laptop, methodically zipping it away in its little case.

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because what if he says I’m possessed or something?”

 

“Isn’t that a good reason to talk to him all on its own?”

 

“I guess,” murmurs Ryan. “I’m scared to. I almost sent an email like three times. I don’t know why I’m so nervous about it.”

 

“I get it,” says Shane. “You got your phone? Here, let me see that.”

 

He types the passcode into Ryan’s phone and opens his emails.

 

“Should I see if he’s free tomorrow afternoon?”

 

“Alright,” says Ryan softly. Sometimes, Shane knows, the way to help Ryan is to just do it for him.

 

He types out a calm little email explaining the situation briefly, and asks if they would possibly be able to meet sometime Saturday afternoon. Then he hands the phone back to Ryan.

 

“Thanks,” says Ryan. It seems like a small weight may have lifted off of him, unless that’s just Shane’s wishful thinking. He’s giving Shane a shy, strange look.

 

“What?”

 

“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” he says. His cheeks are rising in color, a fact which Shane does not entirely understand.

 

“It’s cool. I understand now.”

 

“No, it’s not. I was a dick to you. I know you want to talk about, uh. You know.”

 

“I don’t want to talk about it if you don’t,” says Shane. “I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t, like, affecting our friendship.”

 

“That’s dorky.”

 

“I know.”

 

“I knew you felt that way, and I couldn’t deal with it, so I bailed. And I’m sorry about that. So if you want to talk, I’m up for it.”

 

“It’s not like I wanted to have some big discussion. Are we still friends?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Is what happened at the hotel gonna affect our friendship?”

 

“I don’t think so,” says Ryan slowly. “Do you?”

 

“No,” says Shane. “You’re not gonna get rid of me that easy.”

 

They look at each other for a long moment, squished together in the sound booth, Ryan holding his zipped-up laptop against his chest.

 

“I’m cool with it,” says Shane. “You’re my friend, and you needed a hand, and I’m glad I was able to, y’know. Help you out.”

 

“A hand,” says Ryan. “I see what you did there.”

 

Shane barks out an unexpected laugh. “Not intentional.”

 

“It was still pretty good.”

 

Ryan’s laughing too. The fist that’s been clenched around Shane’s heart for the past week loosens its grip. For the first time since last Saturday, he feels like things are gonna be okay.

 

Does he still want to kiss Ryan? Of course he does. That’s probably not going to change anytime soon. But it’s obvious that Ryan doesn’t want to kiss him, and what happened in Pittsburgh was just a fluke. It’s probably better that way, to be honest. Their friendship is easy, familiar, and safe. Anything beyond that is traversing into exciting but dangerous territory.

 

Still, he can’t help but wonder what would happen if he admitted his true feelings. The forced, sudden clarity that something supernatural may exist in the world has left Shane reeling, off-balance. A reckless part of him wants to surge up and just tell the truth.

 

_I liked it. I want to do it again._

 

Instead, he opens his mouth and says, “There’s a margarita happy hour at Valeria’s, a bunch of people are going.”

“Oh, perfect. We need to tell everyone that you finally admitted demons are real.”

 

“Might be real,” Shane corrects. “I have to leave room for reasonable doubt.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because otherwise I’m gonna completely one hundred percent lose my god damn mind.”

 

“Makes sense,” says Ryan. He smiles at Shane, and it’s like the sun breaking through the clouds. “Honestly, I’ll take it.”

 

**

 

Shane picks Ryan up from his apartment at 3pm the next day.

 

Ryan’s scrubbed-clean and nervous-looking, which probably means he spent the day sweaty and freaking out and then had to take an emergency shower. Shane drives through Starbucks and buys Ryan a chocolate-chip cookie.

 

“This tastes like cardboard,” Ryan complains, but he eats the entire thing. They get caught in terrible traffic just trying to go about ten blocks.

 

“We could’ve walked there by now,” Shane points out. “Maybe I should just pull over and let you out.”

 

“No, I thought you were coming in with me!”

 

“I am. I will.”

 

He does.

 

Inside Father Thomas’s office, Ryan sits on the red-velvet chair with his Air Jordans flat on the plush green carpet. He looks nervous at first, but his eyes close slowly, and his expression becomes serene as Father Thomas presses his fingers to Ryan’s temple and says a soundless prayer.  

 

Shane’s never been religious. But a certain calm still washes over him as he watches Father Thomas dab holy water on Ryan’s head.

 

The ritual, or whatever it is, takes about thirty minutes in total. Toward the end, Father Thomas says a bunch of stuff in Latin that Shane doesn’t understand. He assumes translates to, “Any demons in here need to get out before we McFreakin’ lose it on you.” He keeps this assumption to himself

 

Finally, he requests that they all join hands in a circle. The priest’s hand is chalk-dry and smooth. Ryan’s is sweaty as hell. Shane grips it hard, and Ryan squeezes back.

 

Father Thomas says a prayer in English about staying on the path of light and calling on the guardians of heaven to keep the darkness at bay. Then he says, “Amen,” and opens his eyes.

 

They drop hands.

 

Ryan exhales, a long breath.

 

“How do you feel?” asks Father Thomas.

 

Ryan doesn’t answer for a few seconds. He seems to be composing himself.

 

“Better,” he says finally. “Lighter, I guess.”

 

“You boys need to be more careful.”

 

“Yeah, we know,” says Shane ruefully.

 

Ryan gives him a sidelong glance, and he shrugs.

 

“What? We do know. You’re getting attacked by stuff left and right.”

 

“I’m just surprised to hear you say it,” says Ryan. “I can’t get used to it.”

 

“Don’t worry. I’ll still be insufferable for the camera.”

 

“Thank you,” says Ryan to Father Thomas, who gives him a peaceful smile in return. They stay for a few minutes, just chatting, basking in the calm atmosphere of the sunlit office.

 

As they step outside, into the slanting golden light of late afternoon, Shane feels something strange fluttering in his chest. Shane’s car is the only one left in the lot, at least on this side of the chapel. He’d parked under an old, towering flower tree, and while they were inside, hundreds of petals had rained down onto his windshield, giving the two front seats a pinkish-gold glow.

 

Ryan pulls the door closed, sits back against the passenger seat and exhales a long breath.

 

“That was intense.”

 

“Do you feel better?”

 

Ryan considers it.

 

“Yeah,” he says after a moment. “I don’t know if it’s just psychosomatic, but – I feel different.”

 

“Different how?”

 

“Since we got back, I’ve felt like there’s something watching me. Everywhere I went, everything I did. It was the same feeling I get when we go to some of these haunted places, but – all the time.”

 

“Yuck,” says Shane, suppressing his reflexive urge to suggest non-supernatural explanations.

 

“It’s gone now. I feel a lot better.”

 

Shane smiles at him. “That’s good.”

 

Despite saying he feels better, Ryan’s giving him a weird look. Shane can’t quite qualify it. It’s similar to when he wants to argue with Shane about something stupid and can’t bring himself to say it aloud.

 

“What?” Shane asks finally.

 

“Thanks for coming with me. Thanks for – everything.”

 

“You’re welcome,” says Shane, puzzled. “You’re my best friend.” He takes a deep breath, and admits, “I’d do anything for you.”

 

“Yeah? Really?”

 

“Really,” Sane confirms.

 

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” says Ryan again. He’s pink-cheeked, staring at the flowers on the windshield.

 

“Shoot.”

 

“Just, uh, just give me a second.”

 

He won’t look at Shane, which probably means it’s some weird confession. Maybe he had another dream about murdering Shane and feels guilty about it.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

“Yeah, I’m just – ugh. I don’t know how to say this.”

 

“Do you need another exorcism?” Shane jokes.

 

“No! Just – shut up for a minute.”

 

Shane opens his mouth to say something else, another stupid, half-formed joke, but before he can, Ryan leans across the center console and presses a swift, chaste kiss to the corner of Shane’s lips.

 

It lasts about half a second, and feels like a sucker punch.

 

Ryan pulls back, watching him with eyes at once guarded and vulnerable.

 

Shane touches his mouth, dazed.

 

“Oh,” he says, which isn’t very intelligent, but his brain isn’t working very well right now.

 

“Yeah,” says Ryan. “So, there’s – that.”

 

They can’t seem to tear the eyes away from each other, like there’s some kind of magnetic force between them.

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah,” Ryan says again. “Do you – are you –“

 

Shane doesn’t have the words to answer the unspoken question. His heart is thumping like he’s running a marathon. Before he’s even formulated what to say, his hands speak for him, cupping Ryan’s face, pulling him close. Ryan grabs the front of Shane’s jacket.

 

Shane can’t be sure who moves first but suddenly they’re kissing again, soft and slick and maddening. Ryan’s lips are soft and rough-chapped at the same time, Shane thinks there’s probably a metaphor in there somewhere but he’s in no state to be coming up with metaphors right now.

 

He kisses Ryan like his life defends on it. He never knew, until this moment, exactly how bone-deep his desire for Ryan runs. It’s shocking, a gut-punch, the same giddy feeling of weightlessness when you skip a step in the dark.

 

Ryan pulls back first, pink and pleased-looking.

 

For a few seconds, they stare at each other.

 

Then, simultaneously, they burst out laughing.

 

“Come over,” says Shane, when he can finally get some words out. He feels like he could roll down the window and fly into the sky like a helium balloon. Nothing makes sense, but at the same time, the sharp jagged edges of his life have never made so much sense.  He feels inexplicably _right_ , for the first time ever.  “I’ll make you dinner.”

 

“Okay,” says Ryan, breathless and giddy.

 

In the span of a week, Shane’s world has been rocked to its core. He encountered a demon, which until recently, he didn’t believe existed. Now Ryan wants to kiss him. Shane feels like he’s strapped into a rollercoaster and he doesn’t know where it’s taking him. But he’s sure as hell not about to get off. He wants to kiss Ryan again. Actually, he wants to haul him into the backseat and do a lot more than that.

 

Instead, he says, “If I knew believing in demons would make you wanna kiss me, I would’ve opened my mind a long time ago.”

 

His hand has wandered over the center console, and Ryan grabs it, twining their fingers together. They’ve never held hands before, but it feels natural, like finding shoes in the perfect size. Ryan flashes him a small smile, the one he reserves for inside jokes with Shane.

 

“Better late than never.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I originally intended this to be 2 parts only, however now I'm tempted to add an epilogue that's just like 20 pages of Jokes and Boning. Leave a comment or something if that's the kind of content you guys wanna see haha


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You asked for it, and so now I present to you: 30ish pages of Bad Jokes And General Trash. Huge thank you to everyone who left comments and kudos on this story, each one of you is an absolute treasure and I appreciate all the love more than I can say. Hope you enjoy!

“What the hell is _that_?”

 

Ryan sets the last of the groceries on Shane’s kitchen counter, shooting him a look of confused, injured innocence. It’s an artful attempt, which Shane sees through immediately.  

 

He’d gotten the wine right. Something red, with a pretty, swirly label. The basil is a home run, crisp and aromatic, still a little wet from a produce department misting. But the third and most crucial item –

 

“It’s pasta,” says Ryan, baffled.

 

Shane blinks at the offending object once, twice, hoping he’s imagining it. Nope.

 

“Why – why is it in a can?”

 

“I don’t know, it just came like that.”

 

Earlier that afternoon, just before dropping him back off at his car, Shane had given Ryan the fairly straightforward errand of picking up a few things at the grocery store before he came over for dinner. It was, he figured, a cooking-related task that even Ryan Bergara – notorious kitchen nightmare – wouldn’t be able to mess up.

 

Clearly, he had been wrong.

 

Shane picks up the can, unsure whether to laugh or cry. “Ryan, did you – in all honesty, in all seriousness, did you actually look at this can of Chef Boyardee and think – “

 

He can’t finish the sentence.

 

“Think what? Mm, that looks delicious?”

 

“I’m speechless,” says Shane. “You’ve made me speechless.”

 

“It’s mini ravioli,” says Ryan defensively, snatching the can protectively back. “That’s the classiest type of pasta!”

 

“I don’t even have time to explain how wrong you are about that,” says Shane. “I mean, maybe _fresh_ ravioli – I don’t – I’m having trouble understanding – I wrote _fresh pasta_ on the list. Didn’t I?”

 

“List?”

 

“Oh, my god.”

 

“Look, it’s almost exactly what you asked for.”

 

“I don’t know how you can confuse fresh pasta with canned ravioli. Made for six year olds.”

 

“It’s for all ages!”

 

“Then why are there Pokemon on the label?”

 

“Uh, because Pokemon are cool?”

 

Shane has to pause, suppressing the bubble of laughter that threatens to ruin his lecture. “How did this happen? They’re not – these two items aren’t even in the same section of the store.”

 

“I panicked! You know I don’t do well at grocery stores!”

 

Honestly, an understatement. In the past, Ryan has called Shane from Whole Foods because he got lost between the make-your-own-granola section and the dehydrated vegetable chip aisle. _Where the fuck is the ice cream?_ he’d asked desperately, clearly teetering on the edge of a mild panic attack. Belatedly, Shane begins to realize the fatal flaw of his grocery plan.

 

“Okay,” says Shane. “Well. You did get two out of three.”

 

“Right? I thought you’d be thrilled.”

 

“It’s pretty good. For you.”  

 

“Right? I’m having some wine as a reward. I’ve earned it.”

 

He rifles through Shane’s silverware drawer, looking for a corkscrew.

 

“I wouldn’t go that far,” says Shane, opening the correct drawer. He hands the corkscrew to Ryan.

 

“Two out of three is not a failing grade.”

 

“It was at my house. The Madej clan did not look kindly on anything below a C.”

 

“Well, that’s because you’re all nerds.” Ryan stabs the cork and begins turning the screw with grave, adorable concentration.

 

“Oh, cause you’re not.”

 

“I’m more of an adult-onset nerd,” says Ryan. “I keep a healthy blend of nerd and jock energies in my life. It takes a lot of balance. A lot of finesse.”  

 

“Mmhmm. When’s your book coming out?”

 

“Whenever you ghost write it for me.”  

 

“Oh, you mean Sport Nerd? The incredible true story of Ryan Bergara, the world’s sportiest nerd?”

 

Ryan’s laughing. “That’s a bad title. Take it back to the workshop.”

 

“Only if you’ll take this can back to the store.”

 

“I can’t,” says Ryan. “I’ve been drinking. Well, I’m about to be drinking. So. No can do, pal.”

 

“I guess I’ll have to figure something out, then,” says Shane, already perfectly certain that he’s going to stick it so far into his cabinet that he’ll forget it’s even there until two days before the end of the holiday food drive at work when he’s guiltily ransacking his cabinets for items to donate.

 

Ryan pops the cork out of the wine with a flourish. He has a particular grin for when he knows he’s gotten away with something, which both infuriates Shane and turns him on just a little bit. Ryan probably isn’t aware of the second part.

 

For the third or fourth time in the last hour, the context of this dinner cartwheels into his mind, making him catch his breath. Every time things start to feel normal, every time he manages to forget what happened in the front seat of his car earlier, it bursts into the forefront. _Ryan kissed you. Maybe he’s gonna kiss you again. Anything could happen._  

 

“If anyone can cook something classy with the Chef, it’s you,” Ryan’s saying, pouring a generous amount of wine into one of Shane’s stemless glasses. He hands it to Shane, who rolls his eyes.

 

“I can’t believe you think I’d cook you canned ravioli under, like, basically any circumstances. It’s like you don’t know me at all.”

 

“Mm, not true. I know you very well. That’s how I know you’ll like this wine,” says Ryan, pouring himself a glass as well.

 

He holds it up, still smiling.

 

Shane clinks his glass against Ryan’s, only somewhat begrudgingly. He raises it to his lips, and immediately knows by the smell that Ryan’s assessment is correct – he’s going to love it.   Apparently his pleasure is evident on his face.

 

“Oh, I’m right, aren’t I,” says Ryan, satisfied. “Does that get me extra points? Maybe curve my grade up to a low C?”

 

He does a backwards little hop onto an unoccupied section of Shane’s counter, right next to the sink. Shane probably would’ve knocked several things over and pulled a muscle in his groin if he tried the same move. It’s oddly charming how well Ryan fits there, bare feet dangling against the lower cabinets.

 

“No extra points,” says Shane. “The damage has been done. But, yes, the wine’s good as hell.” He pauses. “You still fail grocery class.”

 

“You’ll forgive me once you taste those sweet, beefy minis.”

 

“I will not be doing either of those things, let alone concurrently.”

 

“I feel so sad for you sometimes. It’s like you had no childhood.”

 

“I had a great childhood, during which I rarely had to eat stuff like that unless my brother was babysitting.”

 

“Have I told you lately that your brother is way cooler than you?”

 

“Yes, last week, when I told you how he signed me up for a DDR competition when I was sixteen and bullied me into actually competing.”

 

Ryan’s cracking up all over again. “Oh yeah. Priceless. What a champ.”

 

“Well I mean, I came in second. So. Could’ve been worse.”

 

“What are we gonna eat, if we can’t enjoy this delicious can of nostalgic goodness together?”

 

“I’ll figure something out. This is like a Chopped challenge.”

 

“You’d be horrible on Chopped. You’d have a panic attack.”

 

“Maybe so,” Shane admits, setting his glass down to search the pantry for any kind of pasta. “I’m already stressed out just thinking about it.”

 

“Your sauce smells amazing,” says Ryan. Shane turns around just in time to see him sneaking a finger toward the simmering pot.

 

“Hey!”

 

“Don’t you need a taste tester?”

 

“Use a spoon, you animal!”

 

“Mm,” says Ryan, licking it off his index finger. “That’s fucking delicious.”

 

Breaking his own rule, Shane dips in a finger. He’d put the sauce on to simmer earlier that morning, not expecting to have company.

 

“So good,” says Ryan. “You could sell that. You’re a good cook.”

 

“You can’t rush things with sauce,” says Shane, unable to help himself. “Gotta give the flavors time to marry.”

 

“Yeah, we definitely don’t want any unmarried flavors in here.”

 

“I know you’re making fun of me, but it’s the truth.”

 

“I’m not making fun of you,” says Ryan earnestly. “I’m learning from you. I’m soaking it up like a sponge.”

 

“Well, don’t get any ideas. It makes me nervous that you’re even in here while the burners are on.”

 

“Come on, put me to work.”

 

“No way.”

 

“Let me be your sous chef.”

 

“Last time you were my sous chef, my toaster oven caught on fire.”

 

“Okay, fair, but – that was different.”

 

“No, it wasn’t!”

 

“Give me something to do. I’ll prove myself.”

 

“Fine,” says Shane, long-suffering, because he knows from experience that Ryan will keep pestering him until he gives in.

 

Ryan hops off the counter, delighted, upper lip slightly darkened with wine. He looks a little too cute, backwards peach-colored baseball cap, and a loose-fitting black tank top Shane which has always found distressingly sexy.

 

“Grate some parmesan. It’s in the cheese drawer. Grater is in the cabinet next to the sink.”

 

“Wow, you have a cheese drawer?” Ryan asks, peering into Shane’s fridge. “That’s dope.”

 

“Don’t you?”

 

“Uh, I don’t think so. We just put it all on the bottom shelf.”

 

“Yeah, actually, I’m pretty sure all modern fridges have a cheese drawer,” says Shane pedantically.

 

It feels so easy and normal to tease Ryan like this, bantering back and forth. It’s such a far cry from earlier in the week – hell, from earlier _today_ – that Shane could cry with gratitude. Instead, he accidentally a little giggle slip out.  

 

“You sound like the Pillsbury Dough Boy,” says Ryan. “All giddy about your extensive knowledge of fridge anatomy.”

 

“Everybody has their niche.”

 

Shane turns back to the pantry, continuing his as-of-yet fruitless (or rather, grainless) search for some kind of pasta-or-pasta-adjacent item. He’s going to be very disappointed in himself if he doesn’t have anything. Shane prides himself on his apocalypse-ready pantry. Rice, a box of Ancient Grain crackers that are probably expired, --

 

“Ow!”

 

He looks over his shoulder just in time to see Ryan pop his index finger into his mouth.

 

“What? How did you get hurt already?”

 

“I grated my finger.”

 

Shane stifles a laugh.

 

“I told you. This is too dangerous.”

 

“Nah, no way. I faced down a demon today,” says Ryan, wiping his finger on his shirt.   “I’m a new man. A little danger just makes things spicy.”

 

“Who are you, and what have you done with Ryan Bergara?”

 

“I’m Ryan two-point-oh. Freshly exorcised, and ready for anything.”

 

“Anything?”

 

Their eyes catch from across the narrow kitchen, and something in Shane’s chest does an Olympic-level backflip. He’s reminded, yet again, of what happened earlier, and what very well may happen again. In fact, if he was brave enough, he could step between Ryan’s legs right now, push him back against the counter, and –

 

No. He has to find some pasta, or they’ll be dining like suburban kindergartners tonight. Not on Shane’s watch.

 

“Anything,” Ryan confirms, with a devious little smirk. Shane quickly turns away, taking another gulp of wine. It’s not how he usually drinks – he likes to savor it, typically – but this is kind of an extenuating circumstance. Then he sees it.

 

“Bingo!”

 

An unopened package of dry linguine in the very back of the cabinet. Perfect. He holds it up for Ryan to see.

 

“Any linguine fans in the house?”

 

“Yum,” says Ryan, downing the rest of his wine in one swallow. At least Shane isn’t alone. “Let me do the noodles. I know how to do that.”

 

“Mm, I don’t know.”

 

“I’m a noodle expert.”

 

“Are you, Chef Boyardee?”

 

“There are three things I know how to make. Rice, toast, and noodles.”

 

“Fine,” Shane relents. “Just don’t touch any sharp objects.”

 

“Okay, mom.”

 

“Your mom would never have let you in here in the first place.”

 

“That’s a very good point,” Ryan admits. He takes the package of linguine from Shane, examining the directions, and then goes searching for a pot.

 

“Above the stove,” says Shane, throwing things haphazardly back into the pantry. He can reorganize later.

 

It’s not the first time Ryan’s had dinner at Shane’s house, but Shane can count on one hand the number of times he’s cooked for Ryan. And they’ve never cooked together like this, moving through the same space, strange and familiar at the same time. But it feels nice, somehow, comforting in a way Shane didn’t realize he was craving. He likes Ryan being here, even though his primary function in kitchens in Shane’s experience is getting shredded cheese everywhere and occasionally burning himself.  

 

“I feel so much better,” says Ryan, holding the pot under the tap. “I really do feel – I don’t know. Different. Lighter, somehow.”

 

“That’s good,” says Shane, giving the sauce a little stir. “I was really worried about you.”

 

They’re standing right next to each other, sharing each other’s space. Shane is highly aware of Ryan’s proximity, the dexterity of his hands, the smell of his cologne. God, he’s really in over his head, here. He tries to ignore it.  

 

“You were?”

 

“Uh, yeah, of course I was.”

 

“Even though I was being a douche and avoiding you all week?”

 

“Well, yeah,” says Shane. “That was mostly why I was worried.”

 

“I’m sorry about that. It was a dick move.”

 

“No worries, little man,” says Shane. He spoons out a proper taste test, blows on it, and offers it to Ryan. Ryan opens his mouth obediently and closes his lips around the spoon.

 

“Mmm.”

 

It really shouldn’t be as much of a turn-on as it is.

 

“I’m sorry too,” says Shane, piously ignoring the vivid, obscene imagery his brain attempts to distract him with. “I was being pretty selfish. I had no idea what was actually going on with you, and I assumed it was all about me.”

 

“Well, that’s just business as usual,” Ryan says, going in for another taste. Shane fends him off, and he snatches a flake of cheese instead. “It’s all good. I should’ve just talked to you. I was fifty shades of wigged out.”

 

“Understandably so,” says Shane. “I mean, I get it. That tape – “

 

“Ugh. As much as I love hearing you admit that I’m right about demons –“

 

“I never said it was definitely a demon, just that it –“

 

“—I’ve had enough of the paranormal for the time being.”

 

“I never thought I’d hear you say that.”

 

“And yet, here we are. I had nightmares every night this week. I need a break.”

 

“I had nightmares too,” says Shane. It’s not something he’d normally admit, but things are different now.

 

Ryan seems surprised.

 

“About what?”

 

Shane thinks about it. He swirls the wine in his glass, and then takes the final sip.

 

“I don’t know. I couldn’t really remember anything when I woke up.”

 

“How did you know they were nightmares, then?”

 

“Just a feeling of dread. Or like I was being watched, or something. I don’t know how to describe it.”

 

“Oh, I get it,” says Ryan. He grabs Shane’s glass and refills it. “Believe me, I get it.”

 

“I’m not surprised you’re such a jumpy little mess all the time if that’s how you feel.”

 

“Sucks, right?”

 

“It did suck,” Shane admits. He sets a cutting board on the counter and starts searching for his favorite herb-chopping knife. “I even had one last night.”

 

“Maybe you need an exorcism too.”

 

“Mm, think I’m gonna draw the line at that one.”

 

“Don’t come crying to me when your head starts doing a one-eighty in the bathroom mirror.”

 

“I won’t. I’ll be filming it. Can you imagine? I’d be famous.”

 

“No, you wouldn’t,” says Ryan. “All the other Shane Madejs in the world would comment on the video like, ugh, fake!”

 

“You think so?”

 

“They would post their own videos debunking yours.”

 

“I would get to experience the effects of my own folly,” says Shane, de-stemming the basil. It smells wonderful, fresh and spicy. “Kind of poetic, really.”

 

Steam rises from the pot of water, indicating a healthy boil. Shane rips open the linguine packet, cracks the pasta in half so it’ll fit, and throws it in.

 

“Hey, that’s my job,” Ryan complains.

 

“Here’s a new job. Set a timer for eleven minutes.”

 

Ryan pulls out his phone, fiddles around on it for a second, and then sets it on the counter. Then he jumps back up into his spot next to the sink. His foot catches the side of Shane’s thigh, a brief press, and Shane narrowly avoids mincing the tip of his finger along with the basil.

 

“My talents are wasted here,” says Ryan, watching Shane with a strange, unreadable expression. Like he’s waiting for Shane to get the joke.

 

“Talents? What talents?” Shane asks dutifully, but he’s not thinking about dinner. Ryan’s close enough that Shane imagines he can feel the heat of his body. He smells like his usual woodsy aftershave, a scent which as of recently has taken on a whole new association for Shane.  

 

“All of them, honestly,” says Ryan. “Except my talent for sitting around making jokes while you do all the work. Not that I get to exercise that one very often.”

 

“Guess you better make the most of it.”

 

“I’m surprised. I thought you’d have told me to get down by now cause butts on counters aren’t food safety certified, or whatever.”

 

“They’re not,” Shane confirms. “If a health inspector showed up right now, we would both be in deep shit.”

 

“You’re so weird,” says Ryan fondly. He scoots minutely closer, until the curve of his thigh is nearly touching Shane’s chopping arm.

 

“Stop distracting me,” Shane complains, but without any real feeling. He’s done, anyway. He looks at Ryan, who is already looking at him. With Ryan sitting on the counter, they’re eye-to-eye, an unusual little shock that shouldn’t cause a spark of arousal in Shane’s belly.

 

“Distracting?” Ryan asks innocently. “Me? I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

 

There’s definitely a hint of flirtatiousness in his tone, giving a compelling new depth to their usual banter.

 

“You know exactly what I mean,” Shane says darkly.

 

“Maybe I just want you to pay attention to me.”

 

He licks his lips. Shane notices. He’s leaning forward, just slightly, but stops short.

 

“Are you Hitch-ing me?” Shane demands, or tries to demand. His voice comes out slightly too high-pitched.

 

“Maybe.”

 

Shane swallows. Without thinking too much about it, he leans forward to bridge a gap at once minute and cavernous. Ryan goes still. Shane intends it to be a quick, chaste kind of thing, but he finds himself lingering, unable to stop. Ryan’s mouth is soft and tantalizing. He tastes like oregano and Carbernet Sauvignon.

 

Although all of his baser instincts are screaming at him to do the opposite, Shane pulls back before things can get too heated. Ryan’s watching him with a mysterious little smile.

 

“What?”

 

“I don’t know,” says Ryan. “It just feels good.”

 

“It does,” says Shane, breathtakingly aware once more of the novelty, the fragility, the electric thrill of this – whatever it is – between them. Feeling daring, he adds, “I’ve, uh – I’ve wanted to do that for awhile.”

 

Ryan catches his breath gratifyingly. “You have?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

He’s wanted to do a lot more than that, actually, but it doesn’t seem like the right thing to admit right now. At least, not according to the practical side of his brain, which he’s currently clinging to like a drowning man. Regardless of what’s happened so far, he still doesn’t know how far they’re going to take this, or what the fuck they think they’re doing.

 

He knows, however, with a nasty little thrill, that he won’t be able to hide behind his pragmatism forever. And if Ryan decides he wants to take things further, well – Shane isn’t a goddamn saint.

 

“Me too,” says Ryan, like a dare.

 

Before Shane can think of a coherent response, Ryan’s heels are digging into his lower back, pulling him close. Their bodies fit together in a way that makes Shane want to skip dinner altogether and go right to dessert.

 

He tries to stop that train of thought in its tracks – it’s a complicated situation, they need to take this slow, figure out what they’re doing – but Ryan’s lips are parting, tongue slipping into Shane’s mouth. It’s a real kiss, full-bodied and stirringly sexual. Their tongues twine together, hot and slick, a maddeningly pressure that has Shane’s chinos feeling uncomfortably tight.  

 

“Mmf,” says Ryan when Shane gives his lower lip a nibble. Ryan’s hands creep into his hair, feet hooked around his lower back, chest to chest.

 

Shane’s torn between using the last of his willpower to break away before things get out of hand, and just ripping Ryan’s shirt off and seeing first-hand exactly how far this nameless thing between them can go. It’s pretty much an even split.

 

Luckily, the timer on Ryan’s phone makes the decision for them.

 

Ryan gropes for the phone, flushed, breathing hard.

 

“Oh fuck,” says Shane, reaching for the pot, which is boiling over. That’s what they get for making out instead of being responsible and paying attention. From the look on Ryan’s face, he couldn’t care less. Shane finds that he doesn’t much care himself.

 

It’s a fantastic night to eat dinner on the deck. A full moon – the Harvest Moon, or possibly the Blood Moon, according to Ryan – hangs low in the sky, bathing everything in an unsettling glow. The faint night breeze smells like faraway heat lightning and his neighbor’s hydrangeas. Shane feels like he could fly from his heels like Achilles and take a tasty bite out of the moon.

 

“This is fun,” says Ryan, two bites in.

 

“Having dinner?”

 

“You know what I mean.”

 

“Yeah,” says Shane. “I do. It is fun.”

 

“It’s bizarre, but I like it.”

 

“Kissing me is bizarre?”

 

“Uh, yeah, it’s fuckin’ bizarre,” says Ryan, laughing. “Do you _not_ find this incredibly, outrageously weird?”

 

“I mean, yeah, good point,” says Shane. “It’s definitely – unexpected.”

 

“Completely unexpected.”

 

“Not for you! You initiated it!”

 

“What? No I didn’t.” He thinks about it for a few seconds. “Well, okay. I guess I kind of did.”

 

“You fully did,” says Shane, taking a big bite of linguine to see if the length of time it takes him to chew will prevent him from asking the question that’s been on the tip of his tongue the entire night. He’s not sure he wants to know the answer. Either way, it doesn’t work.

 

He takes a deep breath. “Can I ask you something?”

 

“Sure,” says Ryan. “Why are you giving me that look? I’m nervous.”

 

“No, it’s just – ugh. How, um, how long?”

 

“How long what?”

 

“How long have you, uh, been thinking about this?”

 

Ryan takes thoughtful a sip of wine. He looks almost ethereally handsome in the moonlight, at once familiar and strange. Shane can hardly wrap his mind around the fact that Ryan made out with him, and there’s a very real possibility of doing much more than that before the night is over.

 

“I’ll tell you, then you have to tell me. Deal?”

 

“Deal,” says Shane.

 

“Okay. Since the holiday party.”

 

That was nearly a year ago. Shane tries, and fails, to reconcile this new information with the existing narrative in his brain. It doesn’t quite fit.

 

“Uh,” he says. “Wow.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” says Ryan, waving his hand like he usually does when he’s embarrassed. “Your turn.”

 

“Wait, don’t I get any more details about that?”

 

“Shane, if you don’t already know what I’m talking about, you might want to leave it a mystery.”

 

“Tempting, but I want to know.”

 

“Fine. After your turn.”

 

“Fine,” says Shane, pretending to wrack his brain. Unfortunately, he already knows the answer, and it’s somewhat embarrassing. He should’ve known Ryan would turn this around on him. “It’s, uh, it’s pretty – cliché.”

 

“Quit stalling,” says Ryan, fixing Shane with an unblinking expression. “Tell me your secret.”

 

“Ugh,” says Shane. “Okay. It was, uh, after we did that stupid lipstick video together. It made me want to kiss you. And that was a gateway thought to, uh, other thoughts.”

 

Ryan’s eyes widen, and, right on cue, he bursts out laughing. Whether it’s the wine, or the fact that Ryan’s laugh is highly infectious, Shane finds himself giggling too.

 

“Yeah, it’s – I told you. Cliché as fuck.”

 

“That was like, three years ago. And it was the dumbest video we ever did. I don’t know how to process this.”

 

“There is no _way_ that was the dumbest video we ever did. I challenge that statement.”

 

Ryan won’t be deterred. “Why did that video make you want to kiss me? It can’t have been the lipstick. I looked so bad.”

 

“I don’t really know,” Shane admits. He opens his mouth, and finds himself speaking the truth. “I already – it wasn’t like I’d never thought about it before. But you made some dumbass joke while we were filming –“

 

“Sounds like me.“

 

“—about like, what if this awakens something in us? And, uh, well—“

 

“It did?”

 

“It did.”

 

“I can’t believe that’s what did it,” says Ryan, gleeful. “I looked like an adult goth.”

 

“You looked like a Hot Topic employee.”

 

“A backup dancer for Marilyn Manson.”

 

“A really bad Dracula impersonator.”

 

“Apparently you’re into that,” says Ryan, still grinning, clearly loving every second of this.

 

“Apparently I am.”

 

“So, is this your way of telling me that I should work some lipstick into my repertoire? Cause – I hate to break your heart, buddy, but that’s probably not going to happen.”

 

“I will pay you real money for it to never happen again,” says Shane. “Because it was pretty terrifying.”

 

“But arousing.”

 

“Yes, unfortunately.”

 

“I’m learning so much about you tonight,” Ryan says happily.

 

“Well, your turn,” says Shane. “I spilled my guts. What happened at the holiday party to make you fall desperately in lust with me?”

 

“Wow,” says Ryan, and for a split second, Shane’s afraid he’s gone too far. Then Ryan tips his chair back, like he’s considering what to say.

 

“Uh, you probably don’t remember this, but – you told me I looked, uh, fuckable.”

 

“What?!”

 

“Yeah, you were pretty drunk,” says Ryan.

 

“That doesn’t sound like something I would say.”

 

“And yet, you managed to tell me not once, but twice.”

 

“That you looked –“ Shane can’t say the word. His ears are burning.

 

“Fuckable,” says Ryan, rolling each syllable crisply off his tongue. “Yeah, I figured you probably didn’t remember that.”

 

“I don’t. Not at all. What the hell?”

 

“That was my reaction too,” says Ryan.

 

“Ugh,” Shane groans, letting his head fall into his hands.

 

“Hey, I tried to protect you,” says Ryan. “I told you this was a story you might be better off not remembering. But no-o-o, you just had to hear it.”

 

“Alright, well, hurry up and finish telling it, so I can start trying to re-repress my memories.”

 

“There’s not much to tell. You came up behind me in the bathroom while I was washing my hands, kinda leaned your chin on my shoulder, and uh – said that.”

 

“Wow. I just, like, came out with it?”

 

“Yep,” says Ryan. “And I said, what? And you gave me this intense stare in the mirror and said, you heard me. And then you started talking about how pickles can make or break a good cheeseburger.”

 

“Good lord.”

 

Shane has a sudden memory of the night – Ryan and a few other guys showing up wearing makeup for some video they’d been working on. The little thrill of arousal when Ryan told him, which he quickly suppressed and took two or three vodka shots about. Clearly that had only made things worse.

 

“That was the night you had makeup on.”

 

“Yeah,” says Ryan. “Actually, to be really specific, the first thing that Drunko Shane told me was that my makeup looked dope. And I said, really? How’s my outfit? Just kinda, fishing for compliments.”

 

“And I said –“

 

“Fuckable.”

 

“Jesus Christ.”

 

“That’s what I said!”

 

“Then what?”

 

Ryan shrugs. “I don’t know. We went back to the party. Steven was being annoying about us coming out of the bathroom together and you challenged him to some kind of Slavic drinking contest.”

 

“Did I win?”

 

“Kind of. Steven was eliminated after barfing on Quinta’s skirt. But then you immediately announced you were going to take a victory lap and walked right into a wall.”

 

“Regrettable,” says Shane.

 

“Then we shared an Uber and you told me, for a second time, I guess just in case I hadn’t gotten the message –“

 

“Ugh. Seriously?”

 

“— you leaned really close to me and told me you were sorry, and you knew you shouldn’t say anything, but I just looked so incredibly –“

 

“Oh god. Don’t say it.”

 

“Fuckable!”

 

Shane does a full-body cringe that extends to his very soul.

 

“Jesus. I’m so sorry.”

 

“For what?”

 

“Uh, for being incredibly inappropriate and gross? I feel like such a perv.”

 

“It’s alright,” says Ryan. “I mean, I obviously – kind of liked it.”

 

“Yeah but, that’s still – ugh. What’s wrong with me?”

 

“Nothing,” says Ryan. “You just had the truth in your soul and it had to come out.”

 

“That was one truth I definitely should not have shared.”

 

“It’s okay, seriously,” says Ryan. “I mean, it was weird, but – it wasn’t like you were hitting on me. You were just, I don’t know. Informing me. It was actually a big confidence boost for me.” He pauses. “I mean, my dreams got a little weird after that, and obviously it, uh, awakened something in me that caused me an unimaginable amount of mental anguish –“

 

“Now that does not surprise me.”

 

“But I wasn’t offended or anything.”

 

There’s a long pause while Shane attempts to slot this information into the past year. All of their interactions, every place they went, every bed they shared, Ryan knew, pretty unquestionably, that Shane found him – _shudder_ – fuckable. Shane has some major reassessments to do.

 

“Why didn’t you call me out?”

 

“I dunno,” says Ryan. “You never brought it up or gave me one of those classic Shane awkward apologies, so I didn’t think you remembered. So why make things weird?”

 

“You wouldn’t have been the one making things weird,” says Shane. “I made it weird. Fucking hell. That’s, like, sexual harassment.”

 

“Shane, I liked it,” says Ryan. “You don’t have to feel guilty. It wasn’t as lecherous as you’re probably thinking. It was just – out of left field, that’s all.”

 

After another pause, Shane says, “So, then, last Saturday –“

 

“I’m sorry about that,” says Ryan immediately, like he’s been waiting for Shane to bring it up. “Talk about, like, inappropriate behavior. I don’t know what I was thinking. I thought it would help me.”

 

“I know,” says Shane.

 

“I wasn’t in my right mind.”

 

“Understandably so,” says Shane. “It’s okay. Nothing to apologize for.”

 

“Why, because you’ve been lusting after me since the day we met?”

 

Ryan meets his eyes, a little teasing, a little nervous.

 

“Basically,” Shane confirms.

 

Ryan’s shoulders relax. “Okay. I was, uh, I mean – talk about sexual harassment. I felt like I forced you into doing something you weren’t comfortable with. I spent the entire week feeling like Harvey Weinstein, if Harvey Weinstein was capable of feeling immense guilt.”

 

Shane laughs at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. “Nice tactic of just, you know, completely avoiding me all week.”

 

“I was afraid you were gonna chew me out,” Ryan admits. “Or, like, let me down gently and be super nice about it, which in my imagination was even worse.”

 

“Well, surprise! I liked it. It shocked the hell out of me, and turned me on in a big way.”

 

The words are out of his mouth before he even has a chance to think about what he’s going to say. Ryan’s eyes widen, and a little smile spreads across his mouth.

 

“It turned you on?”

 

“Yeah,” Shane admits.

 

“That makes me feel a little better.”

 

“Good,” says Shane. The night air feels good on his heated cheeks. He’s pretty tipsy, and the weird energy in the air has only intensified throughout their discussion. Maybe that’s why he says something he never in a thousand years thought he’d end up saying to Ryan. “Want me to make you feel a lot better?”

 

Ryan’s eyes widen fractionally. “How – are you gonna do that?” He’s smiling, though, and his tone is low and flirty, like it was just before they started making out in the kitchen. Shane’s heart starts thumping in a good way.

 

“Come inside and I’ll show you,” he says, getting up.

 

“You’re not gonna take the plates inside?”

 

“Not right now,” says Shane.

 

“Wow. I don’t even know what to say. This must be one helluva surprise you’ve got for me.”

 

But he gets up, draining the rest of his wine in one gulp.

 

“Just leave it,” says Shane, voice coming out with a sharper edge than he intends. He catches Ryan’s eye and something passes between them, some unspoken spark that Shane supposes has probably always existed, but never – like this. Ryan reaches out and snags Shane’s hand, allowing himself to be led back into the apartment.

 

Shane closes the screen door behind them. The lights are off in the den but on in the adjacent kitchen, giving the room a soft, somewhat spooky ambience. How many times has he stood in the semi-darkness with Ryan? Hundreds? A thousand? But never, ever like this.

 

“Shane,” says Ryan softly, and doesn’t finish the sentence.

 

Ryan’s hand is still caught up in his, and without really thinking about it, Shane brings it to his mouth and kisses his fingers. The moment stretches out, each second more surreal than the last.

 

Shane drops Ryan’s hand, and they just stand there for a few seconds, sizing each other up. Shane’s heart beats faster and faster, and in spite of himself, he starts to feel nervous.

 

What the fuck are they doing? Is he really about to do – whatever they’re going to do – with Ryan Bergara? His best friend, coworker, and partner, who he’s been secretly fantasizing about – not only sexually, but romantically, might as well admit it – for literal years now? Are they really about to cross this line?

 

The number of ways that this could go staggeringly, disastrously wrong seem overwhelming.

 

Then Ryan says, “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” with a nervous little wheeze. And Shane breathes a sight of relief, because – it’s Ryan. It’s just Ryan. Ryan with his try-hard muscle shirt and his messy hair and his uncertain little smirk like he’s trying to pretend he can read Shane’s mind. They’re standing very close together, and Shane decides that he doesn’t have a single problem with that.

 

“Can I – can I kiss you?”

 

Ryan’s quick, sharp laughter is another relief.

 

“Wow, way to ruin that whole Christian Gray vibe you had going on there for a minute.”

 

“Ugh. That was in no way my intended vibe, and I’m glad it’s ruined.”

 

“I was kinda feeling it. The whole, like, take-charge thing. It was hot.”

 

“Fine,” says Shane, “you want me to take charge?”

 

Before Ryan can answer, Shane reaches out and pulls Ryan closer, pressing their mouths together in a less-than-gentle kiss. Ryan makes an _mmf_ noise that goes straight to Shane’s dick.

 

He tastes like garlic and red wine and something else, something that reminds Shane of the almost-times, stolen glances that they both pretended not to notice, late nights in hotel rooms across the world where that strange spark sometimes threatened to reveal itself but never did. They’d never allowed it to.

 

Until now.

 

Shane’s cups Ryan’s face in one hand, directing the kiss. Ryan’s hands fists in the hem of his t-shirt, clenching and immediately releasing so he can hook his fingers into Shane’s belt loops, pulling their hips together. The motion gives Shane a brief full-body shock, like touching a live wire.

 

It feels like a daydream, but it’s real. It should be impossible, and Shane had always imagined that it was, but now it was right in front of him. Magically, maddeningly real.

 

He feels the same little jolt from earlier, in the kitchen, when he got his first taste of the inside of Ryan’s mouth. He knew then how deadly this was – how addicted he could easily become, if he wasn’t careful. But Shane isn’t thinking about being careful, and this time, there’s no iPhone timer to stop them.  

 

Ryan leans harder into the kiss, meeting Shane’s firm, insistent tongue with his own. They stumble backwards until Shane’s calves hit the couch, and he goes down, pulling Ryan down on top of him. They end up with Ryan half-sprawled across Shane’s lap.

 

Somewhere in Shane’s increasingly-foggy brain is the urge to make a joke about it, just in case things are awkward and he just hasn’t picked up on it. But he doesn’t make a joke, and neither does Ryan.

 

In fact, Ryan climbs into his lap, straddling him. The shadows cut his face into appealing slivers of shadows, half-Ryan, half-mystery, like a face from a dream. He shifts on Shane’s lap, grinning, eyes fixed on Shane’s face.

 

“You look like you know what you want,” says Shane, going for banter and missing by a lot. “I’m right here. All yours.”

 

“Shut up, Shane,” says Ryan firmly, and kisses him again.

 

It’s significantly more thrilling than any late-night first-time make-out session has any right to be. Shane doesn’t know how far this is going to go – it’s so, so new, and there’s probably so much they haven’t thought about – but each second that passes makes it harder to care. If it would keep Ryan’s weight on his lap and Ryan’s tongue in his mouth, Shane would happily agree to just about anything.

 

It’s getting heated in a way it couldn’t any other time. Shane’s pants feel about seventy-five times too small, but he doesn’t want to stop kissing Ryan long enough to do anything about it. Then, suddenly, Ryan pulls away.

 

“Do you, um. I was thinking.”

 

“What?” Shane asks, dumb with arousal. He struggles to form cognitive thought. Was Ryan backing out? Was it too much?

 

“I was thinking,” says Ryan again, and it certainly doesn’t seem like he’s about to back out, from the way he’s tracing the line of Shane’s jaw, up and down, up and down. “I, uh, I’m not really sure – how to say this.”

 

“Spit it out,” says Shane patiently.

 

“You’d be a terrible therapist,” says Ryan, a little breathless.

 

“Good lawyer, though.”

“Saturday night.” He’s blushing, again, which is either the third or fourth time that night, and therefore three or four times more than Shane usually gets to see him blush. Consider Shane hashtag blessed.

 

“What about it?”

 

“I didn’t, uh,” he’s fiddling with Shane’s collar now, and Shane just wants to get back to smooching, but whatever it is, it seems important. “I didn’t, you know. Do anything for you.”

 

“Oh,” says Shane, caught off-guard, and then, “Ohh. Well, that’s. I mean. I didn’t mind.” He judiciously chooses to save the information that he actually had gotten something equal parts humiliating and enjoyable out of it for another occasion.

 

“I mind,” says Ryan. “It’s not fair. I want to, I don’t know. Even things up.”

 

Shane’s dumbass Sex Brain finally catches up to what Ryan’s implying, and almost all of the remaining blood powering his cognitive function makes a beeline for lower ground. The result is dizzying and powerful. He’s suddenly hyper-aware of Ryan’s dark, familiar eyes, his plush lips redder than normal, his fidgety fingers drawing provocative patterns on Shane’s collarbones.

 

“Oh,” says Shane again. “Uh. Well.”

 

“So, I mean –“

 

Shane clears his throat, and tries desperately to remember his manners. “You don’t have to. That’s not, like – what this is about for me. I don’t care if you just want to make out all night, I mean, it’s – I’ll take anything. Uh.” He’s aware that he’s babbling, and makes a valiant attempt to reel it in. “All I’m trying to say, is that you’re not, like – obligated to do anything for me.”

 

There’s a semi-long pause, probably about ten seconds, which feels like ten minutes and mostly consists of Ryan chewing thoughtfully on his lower lip. Shane wonders dimly if he said something wrong. It wouldn’t be the first time, but it would definitely be the most regrettable.

 

Then Ryan says, “What if I want to?”

 

Shane blinks. Their eyes meet and hold.

 

“Well, uh, I mean, if you – if you want to, uh, that’s, I mean –“ Shane stumbles through the sudden swamp of powerful arousal like a lost explorer, searching unsuccessfully for his lost language abilities. “I’m not, uh – you can do whatever you want. I’m not gonna stop you.”

 

Ryan smiles, unbearably gorgeous in the low light, and the swamp turns to quicksand. Shane sinks into it like a warm bath, because if this is how he dies, then so be it. Ryan presses a few sloppy kisses to the side of his face, dipping low to lick a shivery tattoo into his neck.

 

He’s pretty sure he’s never been this hard in his entire life, and Ryan keeps shifting in his lap, so he’s relatively sure Ryan’s aware – at least partially – of how fucking badly he wants this.

 

He wants to say something more eloquent, something witty and disarming that will put them both at ease, but even the handful of brave brain cells who stayed awake after the Great Blood Exodus of earlier are struggling to function. And when Ryan starts to lick under his collar, surprising him with a sharp little kitten-bite, they stop too.

 

“Never would’ve pegged you for a biter,” he blurts out instead, and immediately wants to die. Luckily it’s just Ryan, who snorts a laugh against Shane’s skin. It makes him shiver.

 

“I guess there’s a lot we don’t know about each other.”

 

It’s the flirtiest tone he’s used all night. With a final stab of clarity, Shane recognizes that his brain – his trusty Thought Factory – really is going offline for the remainder of this experience. It should be disturbing, but it isn’t, probably because there’s nobody left up there to think about it. Shane leans back against the couch.

 

“What do you want me to do?” Ryan asks, clearly going for a cocky, flirtatious vibe, but Shane would have to be a lot more brain-dead to not notice the nerves jangling just under the surface.

 

“You do whatever the hell you want, baby.”

 

“I’ve never done – this.”

 

“It’s okay,” says Shane, hoping vaguely that Ryan’s too caught up in the moment to notice how dumb he sounds. “Ryan, I’m not – I just want you.”

 

“Oh,” says Ryan, in a small, pleased voice. Miraculously, Shane’s unmanned, idiot mouth managed to say something good. “Well, okay. I guess, in that case, I’ll just –“

 

He doesn’t finish the sentence, sliding out of Shane’s lap. Shane opens his eyes and sees something previously available only in the deepest parts of his nighttime fantasies. It’s Ryan, flushed and gorgeous, on his knees between Shane’s legs. He’s looking up at him with a combination of arousal, determination, and pure anxiety.

 

“Oh,” says Shane, because it’s seemingly the only word his intelligence-deprived brain remembers at this point.

 

“You wanna, uh, help me out here?”

 

He realizes belatedly that Ryan’s tugging at his belt.

 

“Oh, fuck,” says Shane. It’s probably the fastest he’s ever taken off a belt in his life. Ryan helps him slide down his pants, and then it’s – well, it’s happening. It’s just the two of them, Shane in his underwear on the couch, and Ryan fully clothed on the rug.

 

“I can take these off too, if you –“

 

“Shh,” Ryan mumbles. “Just let me do this.”

 

“Okay.”

 

His voice goes a little shaky when Ryan finally brushes the head of his erection. He shivers, and Ryan doubles back, this time scratching ever-so-lightly with his blunt fingernails. The friction could easily drive Shane mad, which Ryan seems to be fully aware of.

 

“Stop,” whines Shane. “Come on.”

 

“Alright, well. Get em off, then. Help me help you.”

 

Shane shifts his hips up, so Ryan can pull his boxers down. His bare cock springs free, completely unfazed by Ryan’s teasing. Shane sucks in a breath, not daring to look down at Ryan for several seconds. When he finally does, Ryan’s looking back up at him.

 

They watch each other for a few seconds.

 

Ryan’s not teasing anymore. In fact, he looks a little nervous as he licks his lips, eyes darting between Shane’s cock and his face.

 

“I’m probably not gonna be any good at this,” he warns.

 

“Ha ha,” says Shane, clinging to the last vestiges of his verbal abilities. “I gotta say, I’m really not judging on skill, here.”

 

If he’s being completely honest, it’s enough that Ryan’s on the floor in front of him, potentially seconds away from touching his dick. This is getting committed to long-term memory.

 

“I’m not picky. And it’s – Ryan, I’ve wanted this – forever. You really can’t go wrong down there.”

 

“Hmm,” says Ryan, with a little smile. “Challenge not accepted. But I guess, if you really want me to, I could –“

 

He wraps his right hand around Shane’s dick, a light touch, but enough to force out a loud groan that Shane hadn’t realized he was holding back.

 

It’s less weird than it should be, all things considered. But in a way, that makes sense to Shane, because it’s Ryan. Throughout their relationship, they’ve met over and over on the same wavelength, until eventually it became unclear whose wavelength it was to begin with. It only makes sense that their strange bond would continue into sexual experimentation.

 

Plus, when Ryan licks a tentative stripe up the underside of Shane’s dick, it stops being weird at all. In fact, if Shane had retained the ability to speak coherently, he would probably say that it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

 

“Is that good?” Ryan asks.

 

“Mm,” says Shane. “Yeah. It’s amazing. Please, just –“

 

He doesn’t have to say it. Ryan licks up and down his dick like a Popsicle, holding it steady at the base. It’s the best thing Shane’s ever felt. He’s received a fair amount of blowjobs in his day. Not, like, an excessive amount – honestly they’ve been few and far between, with a rare concentrated spike during his senior year of college – but he honestly can’t say that Ryan’s compares to a single one of them.

 

It’s a million times better. A million times hotter. As soon as his lips close on the head of Shane’s dick, he knows in a wordless, bone-deep way that from this moment on, all subsequent blowjobs will be judged by the standard currently being set.

 

It shouldn’t be the best blowjob he’s ever had, but it is. Probably, he thinks later, when he has all of his cognitive faculties back, just because it’s _Ryan_. Shane’s smart, annoying, hilarious, frustratingly sexy best friend, who Shane has wanted with a muted, secret ferocity since the first crowded, unnecessary team meeting they quietly joked through as interns.

 

And now, it’s happening.

 

Here’s Ryan on his knees, lashes a thick downward swoop over his cheeks, sucking Shane’s dick with the same concentration he devotes to the everything in life he really cares about.

 

It’s a lot.

 

His hand finds its way to Ryan’s face, trailing over his cheekbone and ear. His hat is lopsided, which is way too adorable for Shane to handle right now. The wet, muffled noise Ryan makes when Shane’s fingers make contact with his skin is also quite a lot.

 

Too much, actually.

 

There’s a delicious, unstoppable heat building in Shane’s belly, and that usually leads to one place only. It’s bearing down hard and fast. He feels a cartoon damsel in one of those old-timey cartoons, tied to the tracks while the locomotive speeds toward him, powerless to stop it.

 

He says, “Okay, okay, that’s –“

 

But it’s too late. His eyes slide shut against his will. He buckles forward, hands braced against his own thighs, and comes. For a few seconds, he’s actually lost in the dizzy maze of nothingness, bright sparks flashing behind his eyes. Then he realizes what happened, and forces his eyes open.

 

Ryan’s watching him, eyes wide, mouth slick and red.

 

“Unf,” says Shane. “God. I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s okay,” says Ryan, breathing hard. “That was, uh. Wow.”

 

“I should’ve – warned you.”

 

“Shit happens.”

 

“I’ll make it up to you,” says Shane, a little desperately.   He can’t find the words to tell Ryan what he wants to tell him, which is that he may have just experienced the best orgasm of his entire life. It seems like a dramatic thing to just blurt out, but then again, Ryan deserves to know.

 

“Was it – alright?”

 

Shane blinks down at him, confused. Ryan’s looking at him with a shy, almost insecure expression.

 

“Alright?”

 

“Yeah, I mean, did I – I mean, I assume it was pretty good, from the way you – but I –“

 

“Holy shit,” says Shane. “Fuck, yeah. Are you kidding? That was, like – insanely good.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Ryan, you know me. You think I’ve ever – in my life – just, like, accidentally blown a load in someone’s mouth like that?”

 

“Probably not,” Ryan admits. A slow grin spreads across his flushed face, spreading into Shane’s chest.

 

Shane feels warm, exhilarated, pumped up. He’s ready to fight ten thousand armies. He doesn’t realize he’s spoken this sentiment aloud until Ryan says, “I don’t know. You’re not really a fighter.”

 

“I’m a smoocher,” Shane agrees happily.

 

“So, that was like – the best blowjob you’ve ever had, then?”

 

“Wow,” says Shane, teasing. “Cocky much? Finish your first BJ and now you think you’re all that and a bag of pretzels.” He pauses. “But, yes. It was incomparable. You’re a natural.”

 

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

 

“Of course it’s a compliment, idiot,” says Shane fondly.

 

“I have the mouth of an angel.”

 

“Mm, I wouldn’t go that far,” says Shane. “We did just have to get you professionally exorcised of demonic forces earlier.”

 

“That’s true.”

 

“But as for the mystery of whether or not you give amazing blowjobs – definitely not unsolved.”

 

“Solved,” says Ryan, pink and pleased with himself. Shane feels a strange combination of emotions in that moment, looking down at Ryan’s face. It’s familiarity, fondness, but more than that. He wants to say something extremely, humiliatingly sappy. He wants to throw open the screen door and scream something tender and dramatic into the night.

 

Instead, he settles for hauling Ryan up by the shoulders to give him a sloppy tongue kiss. Ryan melts into it, which is exactly what Shane wants. He wants to make this good for Ryan. He wants to make absolute certain that the gift Ryan just gave him is repaid times ten.

 

“Sit down,” he urges, pressing distracted little kisses to the side of Ryan’s face. Ryan allows Shane to guide him back against the couch, giggling when Shane kisses him smack on the nose.

 

“You’re a fucking dork.”

 

“That’s some way to talk to a guy who’s about to totally blow your socks off,” says Shane.

 

“I’m not wearing socks,” Ryan points out, a little breathless. “Also, it’s true.”

 

“Those are very good points. But shush.”

 

Shane settles his knees between Ryan’s parted feet on the rug. He’s tall enough that he can kiss Ryan on the mouth from this position, which he proves at length. He wants to tease him, draw this out, make it last. But the sounds Ryan’s making – mewling, pornographic little moans – are making that very difficult.

 

Plus, for the second time in one week, Ryan grabs Shane’s hand. Then slowly, deliberately, he pulls it down to the front of his shorts. This time, however, Shane resists him. Ryan gives him a look caught between pouty and desperate.

 

“Oh,” says Shane with a smirk. “Is that what you want? I had no idea. I thought you just wanted to get me off, so we’d be equal.”

 

Before Ryan can formulate whatever snarky response he clearly wants to say, Shane applies a gentle pressure to the front of his shorts.

 

“Oh my god,” Ryan says weakly. “Can you just – god.”

 

“I can, but just so you know, that’s gonna make it unequal.”

 

“Then make it unequal, see if I give a shit,” says Ryan, eyes closed.

 

“We’re gonna get stuck in an endless loop of sexual favor reciprocation.”

 

‘Well, in case you somehow haven’t noticed, that’s fine with me,” says Ryan. He’s slumped back on the couch, eyes narrowed to dark slits, face flushed a deep pink. Shane wants to take a picture of him. He wants to remember this image for the rest of his life.

 

“What do you want me to do?”

 

“Ugh,” says Ryan. His breathing is getting a little bit jerky now, which he deserves for how much he teased Shane. “Anything. I don’t care.”

 

“Wow, anything? You must really trust me.”

 

“This has nothing to do with trust,” Ryan groans. Shane’s running his fingers up and down the erection tenting Ryan’s basketball shorts. They may or may not be the same exact pair he was wearing last week, which would be pretty hilarious if true. Nothing else about the situation is even remotely similar. This is five million times better in every way.

 

“Sure it does,” says Shane calmly, in a fairly bad impression of Daysha’s podcast therapy voice. “Sex without trust is like, um, pasta without sauce.”

 

“That’s what you landed on? Really?”

 

“You can still eat it, but it’s nowhere near as good.”

 

“I don’t care about your weird pasta metaphors,” Ryan moans. “Please, just – do something.”

 

“Wow, pushy,” says Shane, mock-surprised. He’s enjoying every second of this. “Fine. Take your pants off.”

 

“You’re a pain in my ass,” grumbles Ryan, as Shane moves aside to let him strip down. He manages to pull his shorts down in one motion, and – rather breathtakingly – has nothing beneath them but a wide, devastating expanse of skin. Shane feels a stir of arousal between his own legs, which honestly isn’t a surprise. He’s wild for Ryan. Always has been, probably always will be.

 

“You’re not gonna be saying that in about five seconds,” says Shane sweetly, and shuts down any potential sarcastic comebacks by pressing a soft, messy tongue kiss to the leaking head of Ryan’s cock.

 

“Ungh,” says Ryan, which is exactly the response Shane was hoping for.

 

He’s seen Ryan’s dick before – multiple times, actually, for various unsexy reasons, including the time that Ryan became irrationally worried that he’d sustained a tick bite on his ding-dong after a campout and begged Shane to investigate with an iPhone flashlight.

 

But this is wildly different. First of all, he’s never seen Ryan erect before. He has a great cock, thick and meaty, a good length but not so long that it would tickle Shane’s annoyingly sensitive gag reflex. Best of all – amazingly, impossibly – he’s hard for Shane.

 

The reality of the situation hits him all over again in a heady rush. God, the things Shane would do to Ryan. The things Ryan may or may not _want_ him to do.

 

Unable to take it slow, Shane presses a series of slobbery kisses down Ryan’s cock, stopping just before his nose touches the overheated flesh of Ryan’s inner thigh. He pauses for two seconds, to see if Ryan will whine about it – he does – then grabs the base of Ryan’s cock and takes the entire thing into his mouth.

 

Ryan makes a noise like he got punched in the gut. But Shane doesn’t give him a break. He’s done this once or twice, and it’s not that he wants to show off or anything, but – he definitely wants to do a good job. And judging from the series of helpless little moans coming out of Ryan’s mouth, he’s achieving that goal. He slides his mouth up and down, increasing in speed.

 

Groaning, Ryan’s hands find Shane’s hair, petting it gently. God, yeah. Shane breaks away briefly to say, “Fuck yeah, pull it if you want.”

 

Ryan doesn’t respond, at least not verbally. His fingers wind into Shane’s hair, giving it an experimental little tug that goes straight to Shane’s groin. He’s getting hard again, which is honestly not all that surprising. Shane enjoys giving blowjobs, and he’s finding Ryan to be an extremely pleasant recipient.

 

He deepthroats him once, twice, then focuses his attention on the head, using his hand where his mouth doesn’t reach.

 

“Oh my fucking god,” mumbles Ryan. “Jesus Christ, Shane.”

 

Shane takes this as a sign to keep going. He sucks gently on the head, contrasting the sloppy, increasing speed of his hand. Ryan’s hand clenches in his hair, and Shane moans around a mouthful of cock, feeling utterly slutty, perfectly flawless.

 

“I’m gonna,” says Ryan, sounding suddenly panicked. “Shane, I’m gonna –“

 

Shane increases the pace even more, using his mouth and hand in tandem. Ryan makes a strangled noise above him, half-groan, half-shout, and comes down Shane’s throat. Shane swallows it all, deeply satisfied. When Ryan’s fingers finally loosen their grip, Shane lets his dick slide out and looks up to see what kind of damage he’s done.

 

It’s better than he even hoped for. Ryan’s melded back into the couch, sweaty and red-cheeked, hat long gone. His hair is half-plastered to his forehead and the rest is sticking up in every direction. His eyes are closed, hand pressed over his mouth. He looks utterly wrecked, which is exactly what Shane was going for.

 

“That good?” Shane teases. “You gonna survive?”

 

“Unclear,” says Ryan faintly. “I think you broke my brain.”

 

“Your brain was already like that when I found it. If anything, I improved things.”

 

Ryan shakes his head, looking shocked. Shane resists the urge to jump around and pump his fists in the air.

 

“How the fuck did you – do that?”  

 

Shane shrugs. “I, uh, have a particular set of skills.”

 

There’s a long pause. Shane wonders idly if Ryan’s going to ask him where he learned to give such good blowjobs, whereupon he’ll be forced to explain the strange, sexually generous culture of the University of Chicago Drama Club.

 

Instead, Ryan says, “I knew your obsession with hot dogs ran deeper than food.”

 

Shane laughs out loud. He pulls his boxers back on and joins Ryan on the couch, forcibly cuddling him into a position where they’ll both fit. Ryan goes easily, body limp and pliable, surprisingly light.

 

“I’m glad you liked it,” says Shane primly, once his arm is around Ryan’s waist and his face is buried satisfyingly in Ryan’s sweaty hair.

 

“I had no idea what you were capable of,” says Ryan.

 

“And you still don’t.”

 

“That’s not ominous or anything.”

 

Time passes as they lie together on Shane’s soft, lumpy couch, talking only with gentle caresses and the satisfying press of skin on skin. Shane’s hard again, but trying to ignore it, because post-coital cuddling with Ryan is just as much fun as the events preceding it. He tries to think unsexy thoughts.

 

Of course, unfortunately, this leads to the inevitable.

 

They need to talk about this. It’s the mature thing to do, and really, it’s the only thing to do. One of them needs to bring it up. They ought to discuss what they’re doing here. Maybe define some boundaries, set some ground rules.

 

Ryan’s been quiet for quite some time. Shane wonders if he’s thinking the same thing. Maybe he’s waiting for Shane to bring it up. Or, worse still, maybe he’s regretting it. Maybe he’s lying there, thinking about how different everything was going to be now that they’d touched each other’s dicks. Trying to come up with the best way to let Shane down easy.

 

Ryan breaks the silence first. His voice is quiet, a little husky.

 

“So, uh, do you maybe wanna do that again?”

 

A beat of silence. Then Shane bursts out laughing, and so does Ryan.

 

Ryan twists around to face him, presumably just so Shane can see the cute, devilish little smile on his face. Shane’s heart swells at least four sizes, which certainly isn’t healthy, but he can’t control the effect Ryan has on him. In fact, he realizes – with a funny little shock – that he would do almost anything to make Ryan smile like that.

 

“Oh, hell yeah. Definitely. As soon as possible.”

 

“Yeah? Is that a promise?”

 

“Baby, it’s a fact.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Come talk to me on [tumblr](katelusive.tumblr.com) if you feel so inclined! :)


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